


Perdu

by SerenePhenix



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Completed, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Post-Season 2, Team as Family, exploring different possible alternate universes and endings, imagined 3rd season, please read the author's note before reading the actual work!, see author's notes for more detailed tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-11-17 01:04:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 40,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11264745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerenePhenix/pseuds/SerenePhenix
Summary: He did everything they'd asked of him. He had fought a war that had not been his to begin with because it was the right thing to do, because at the end of it all stood the promise of returning to his family. He was done. He wanted home.What he did not expect was for a man obviously just as lonely as him to join him on the journey. A man willing to listen, willing to understand.So many possible realities and so many ways that it could go wrong. Or maybe just right.





	1. Part I: The Lost

**Author's Note:**

> This is super self-indulgent, so sorry in advance.  
> This story is a bit of an experiment and I hope you all will be willing to participate! This work will be compromised of two parts. The first one will be this very chapter. It will set the premise for the two ending versions of Part II. But you as a reader can choose which one you want to read first! Two stories at the price of one, if you catch my drift! ;D
> 
> There will be more elaborate warnings/tags posted at the top of the according chapters once you’ve made your decision because the tags on the work might give away the story and that would kind of suck the fun out of this one.
> 
> This fic is rated gen but it is written vague enough so that you, the reader, can interpret how deep the bonds forged are.  
> Anyway, I hope you have fun. Get something nice to drink, stay hydrated and maybe get some tissues.  
> Here we goooo!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this part: mention of drug use (recreational)

Lance meets him when he least expected it.

He just dropped off on another moon specialized in trade for intergalactic travel - at least he hopes it’s that because despite Pidge’s and Hunk’s efforts to translate Altean with their program there still were some bugs that could lead to some rather hilarious mix-ups.

His eyes sting as he turns off the system and does his best to push down the lump in his throat, to swallow the bile rising.

No use mulling it over. There was no looking back now.

The mall is a copy of the one he had last visited with the team and he finds it rather ironic that it reminds him so much of home, where every mall, no matter the city, looked exactly the same.

He heaves a sigh, exiting his pod through one of the tunnels connecting his vessel to the structure. The duffel bag slung over his shoulder rattles with the mismatch of items he has stuffed into it. Hopefully, one of those space pirates would be willing to trade with him. It was his only chance at scraping together some GAC and hopefully get some canned food that was safe to consume.

He would need it for the trip he had planned.

Weaving through the masses was easy. Finding the shop was not. Maybe his appearance, a teenager with a ratty nest of hair and bags under his eyes, was working against him. He plugs some fuzz off his jacket absentmindedly as he sits at the base of a fountain, coins glittering enticingly at the bottom. He swallows and turns around. Getting in and picking up the money might attract the wrong kind of attention.

His stomach gives a menacing growl and he can’t help but weave his arms around his middle as his muscles cramp. He had not counted on how slow the pods were in comparison to the Castle or Blue...

_Nope, not going there._

Anyway, whatever goop he had packed had not lasted long enough. And although it had only been a day since he had last eaten, he feels like he would not even turn down Coran’s disgusting paladin lunch. He gives a frustrated growl, getting up with a sharp jerk and navigated through the mall once again.

When finally, he had found the place he had been looking for, and finally managed to get the shopkeeper to trust him, it had taken all of his skill and charm to persuade the alien to buy his mementos off of him. It had kind of hurt to see the collection of knick-knacks, ranging from a small Balmeran crystal to a sea-shell from his and Hunk’s trip in the depths of the ocean planet, go over the counter. Those had been gifts he had actually wanted to give to his family.

He hopes his coming back will be enough to appease them and make up for his absence.

The 4.000 GAC he had received in return felt heavy in his hand but he was aware that it would never be enough to get a few months’ worth of food. But bargaining had not worked and sob stories had been of no interest to the gray-skinned individual behind the counter.

Shoulders slumping, he trudges over to a more secluded area, probably for employees only, and sits down on the ground with his legs outstretched, resting his head against the wall.

How sad that being a Paladin of Voltron, one of the people responsible for the downfall of Zarkon, did not give him any extra brownie points with strangers. But he had nothing on his person that could even hint at his connection to the group.

He gives a growl when the tears are back again. He had spent the last few days going through every range of emotion a human could possibly feel. A roller-coaster ride that had not done his stomach any favors. He finally understood Hunk a bit better, even if he would have been happy to live without that knowledge.  
He cusses at his stomach when it reminds him of his most pressing problem. The jingle from the purse filled with coins only fuels his dismay.

He would like to dig into a huge plate of pasta, pizza or anything greasy and savory. Anything to curb both the gnawing hunger and piercing homesickness. But he would have to ration whatever he got. This trip was going to be long and money was, sadly, scarce.

Getting up, he makes his way to round the corner and collides with someone.

His half-empty bag goes flying as he lands on is rear with a surprised shout. The person he had run into going down completely.

“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry!”

He scrambles to his feet hastily, trying to help the other person get up and extending his hand.

His breath gets caught in his throat.

The man was undeniably gorgeous.

Long, white strands frame a face with sharp contours but there is no harshness to his features. He looks smart in clothes that are plain but practical, a mix of black, grays and white. But what immediately has Lance’s undivided attention are the eyes of a gold so intense it is almost blinding.

He is the most human-looking alien he has come across yet, besides the Alteans. These things aside, if he didn’t know any better Lance would have thought he had just run into some sort of beautiful deity.

His outstretched hand is taken with little hesitation and Lance needs a second to remember that he needed to actually hold onto the stranger to heave him up.

The man gives quiet thanks in return, dusting himself down.

Every move was fluid and elegant as unspectacular as the actual act of dusting oneself down may be. Once he is done his gaze goes back to Lance, a small smile on his face that makes a knot form in Lance’s stomach.

“Ah – I’m so sorry.” He stammers, feeling heat rise up to his cheeks. It was so strange how words seem to fail him when he usually considers himself suave.

The stranger slowly shakes his head, grabbing the bag and handing it over to Lance who taks it without his eyes leaving the stranger’s face.

“It is no problem. In such a crowded place one must expect to run into other people, even literally.”

Lance gives a nervous laugh: “Or them falling for you.”

The words are out before his brain is able to put in a filter and when he is met with surprised blinking, Lance suddenly realizes what he has just done. He wants to die on the spot. What the quiznak was he thinking blurting out something like that?! Point is: he wasn’t. At all. And he usually isn’t this open or brash with guys. It’s strange… But damn that had been smooth.

“Ah- um- I mean… I” his voice breaks with the flood of embarrassment taking over his thoughts and stops when a chuckle meets his ears.

The stranger has a hand before his mouth but the crinkle around his eyes betrays his amusement.

Lance gives his own nervous chuckle before the loudest growl yet makes them both stare at his stomach. Lance never knew that one could feel this self-conscious.

What had he done to deserve this?

It takes his mind little to supply him with a quiet: _A lot._

“If you don’t mind,” the stranger begins; voice as kind as his glowing eyes, “I would like to invite you to eat something with me. I am sure getting to know each other while seated, is much more comfortable.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Lance can hear the echo of his failed attempt at flirting with the princess, something about talking and eating equating a date.

“You know,” he replies, grateful smile twisting up the corners of his stiff lips, “I really would like that.”

_

Lance needed all of his willpower to not give into his instincts and dig into the food like a starving man. He wants to show Lotor that he is a civilized person and maybe make up for the rather unlucky first impression he must have made.

Lotor, as it turns out, is not just mild-mannered but a great enthusiast of jokes and amusing stories, one of the things Lance proudly can provide.

He is quiet and as much of a gentleman as Lance had expected from the few words they had exchanged upon their run-in.

He was smart with an air about him that makes Lance feel safe and warm. When Lance talks he seemed to listen, shows obvious interest in what he was saying, adds in his own experiences. He doesn’t interrupt Lance and accepts his terrible puns with a good grace that has Lance reeling.

He gulps down half his glass of space water when he feels his heart squeeze painfully.

Somehow, this man he just met picks up on a change in his expression. It’s scary and incredible how easily this person could read him.

“I must confess, I am surprised that you are here on your own.”

Lance gives a noncommittal sound, his insides tangling up with sudden anxiety.

Lotor’s smile was knowing.

“Even I had to go to great lengths to persuade my father to let me roam the universe unsupervised and if I may be so bold, I believe that considering what you have told me about humans’ life cycles, that you are but a youngling by our standards.”

Lance knows where this was going and he isn’t sure he likes it or would even be able to not spill his secrets by just the look on his face. Everything is still too raw.

“Must I assume that you are running from something or maybe someone?”

Lance opts for staring at his plate, a dish of varying neon colors with a chewy property to it and starts loading his spork so as to avoid looking at his new friend.

He stuffs the food into his mouth, feeling bad. Lotor is probably just trying to help but Lance is too ashamed to say anything.

Lotor relents, sitting back.

“You do not have to tell me, I will not judge you for it.”

Lance can feel his lower lip wobbling precariously. It has been a while since people have been _this_ understanding towards him. The ‘handkerchief’ suddenly appearing in his line of vision caught him off guard.

When he meets Lotor’s eyes, they seem sympathetic.

And suddenly, his whole vision blurs but Lance manages not to let any sound escape him as he takes the tissue and cleans himself up. Wow, this was not how a first meeting was supposed to go. What idiot got all emotional over nothing?

“Sorry.” He finally rasps, thoroughly embarrassed.

Lotor shakes his head, his hair following the motion.

“Do not worry.”

Lance feels the first real smile in weeks stinging his cheeks.

-

When Lance sees the Castle’s silhouette through the glass roof of the mall, he feels his insides dissolve.

They found him.

Lotor catches the bags filled with canned goods that slips out of his slack grip.

“Is something the matter?”

Lance could not form words. He stares mutely before managing to detach his eyes from the now descending Castle, silently pleading with the man beside him.

He can’t face them. He can’t go back.

Steel enters those golden orbs.

“If you came here on your own, then you must have a vessel. Do you think we will reach it in time?”

Lance nods.

“What about you?”

Lotor grins.

“I was travelling with a group of merchants. They left without me.”

They run for the pod.

-

“That was close.”

Beside him, Lotor gives his affirmation, heaving a few breaths. It was one thing to race to a pod. It was a completely different matter when you had to make sure not to lose bulging bags full of foods.

A laugh bubbles out of Lance, hands tightly clasped around the controls.

They lapse into companionable silence, the stars streaking by. Lance drinks in the sight. Once he gets back home, he would probably never get to see this again.

“What are you thinking?”

Lance glances at his co-pilot, this stranger who has been so kind to him. Who ran with him to this pod when they virtually knew nothing about each other. This person who seems to see beyond all of his layers. This man who did not insist on answers and justifications.

“I wonder what drove you to just go and follow a loser like me.”

He gives a small laugh but is surprised when the silence charges with tension.

Lotor looks anything but amused.

“You should not talk about yourself in such a depreciating manner.”

Lance’s heart stops at his next word.

“It is unbecoming of a Paladin of Voltron to downplay his abilities.”

Had the chair not been fixated to the floor, it surely would have clattered to the ground with how fast Lance leaps out of it, pressing himself to the wall opposite of Lotor; his face colorless as he stares at his companion.

“How…”

“There have been rumors going around.”

The gold of his eyes has Lance under their spell. It’s impossible to look away.

“People have been murmuring about a white Castle harboring the Lions of Law, about the reappearance of the lost heir to the Altean throne and new Paladins forming Voltron and defeating emperor Zarkon.”

Was the air getting thin in the cockpit? Lance can’t tell but it suddenly becomes so much more difficult to breathe.

Lotor doesn’t move, staring calmly up at Lance while the latter feels himself shatter.

“Most recent rumors have it that they lost their leader in the final battle,” he gave a pause and Lance felt exposed and vulnerable under the glow of those golden orbs “and that they have been looking for another member, hailing systems in hopes of clues of his whereabouts.”

In the end, Lance opts to hide his face in his hands.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

It was so quiet that Lotor probably did not hear any of it. Lance doesn’t care.

“It was supposed to be over. We were supposed to win. We were supposed to go home. All of us.”

The image of Shiro’s empty chair vividly appears before his inner eye, choking him.

He can still see the expressions of his teammates, disbelieving and torn, pure denial or crushing sadness etched into every line of their faces.

It had not gotten better in the weeks following.

He starts at the hands suddenly clasping his and guiding them away from his face.

“I told you I would not demand answers, nor that I would judge you. Please believe me when I say that it is just a shame that one of the few people in the universe capable of flying one of the Lions of Voltron, would speak about himself in such an unflattering way.”

Lance gives a tiny nod. He misses the warmth around his wrists as Lotor withdraws.

-

“And then Carmen just came in shoving this strange mix into our hands demanding we test it. Oh boy, no one could handle that spice. We were practically running around screaming for mercy.”

Lotor gives a snicker and Lance guesses that it has not just to do with the story but simply because of how animatedly he is retelling it. It took some time to adjust to the small space of the pod now being occupied by two people instead of one but Lance would not have it any other way. He’s also glad he decided for one of the bigger models with basic accommodations to his very human needs.

Although it had taken some figuring out to do, they found a way to use what little room they have effectively, even if it means that they always have to take turns sleeping in the pilot chair and bunk respectively. Yet, Lance is grateful for the company Lotor provides and the knowledge he shares on whatever systems they come across.

It seems almost as if he there was no corner of the universe he didn’t know.

The timer ticks down slowly as they draw closer to their next stopover: some smaller colony under Galra jurisdiction but Lotor assured him that with the empire in disarray it was highly unlikely they would run into trouble - unless Lance did his best at attracting it.

His pout had not lasted longer than half a minute before they both dissolved into quiet laughter.

Lance leans back into his chair, arms behind his head and just staring up at the stars.

“What about your family?”

He does not think much of it when he drops the question but when no answer comes after several minutes, he dares looking at his friend. Lotor has turned to face the stars. As if he can feel the weight of his stare he suddenly replies firmly: “I do not feel very close to my family. There was a time I did not feel that our vision of the future coincided. I left in search for answers I still haven’t found.”

“But things have taken an unexpected turn. I may soon have to assume my responsibilities sooner than I had anticipated.”

Lance nods.

“I feel you, man.”

-

Lance has never missed his armor and rifle more than he did now. They’ve had to land due to a system error (the pods just weren’t built for this kind of intergalactic space travel) but the wildlife is anything but friendly. He has no idea where Lotor produced the small gun from but Lance is more than just glad that his friend is in possession of a weapon Lance can use to keep their crash site safe.

Perched on the top of the pod, he asks how repairs are going, eyes scanning their surroundings. A smaller one of those giant were-rabbits drops as Lance shoots it before it makes it out of the line of trees.

“It may take me another Varga before we are ready for take-off.”

There is a clank but Lance does not dare look down.

“Fortunately, it is a rather common mechanical failure that is easy to remedy.”

Out of habit Lance readies himself for the onslaught of mechanics jargon he has grown to expect from Hunk or Coran. Instead, he is met with silence and the sound of metal hitting metal. He is not sure whether to find it comforting or depressing.

-

Lance watches as Lotor does his best at programming a route for their flight.

So far, the results are moderate.

“Our fuel is not sufficient to make it to Benaram.”

The icon depicting their destination of choice is tinted an alarming red, but nothing having to do with Galra activity for once.”

“We could stop by on this small moon but the Galra activity is quite… alarming to put it lightly.”

He glances at him from the corner of his eyes, for once not obstructed by his hair which he has drawn into a high ponytail. Lance is willing to admit that it does some very concerning twists to his stomach.

“With your connection to Voltron, I would refrain from getting too close to it.”

They remain there for a few solid ticks, Lance standing and Lotor sitting, contemplating the map.

“What if we took one of the bigger cruisers to get us past our problem?”

When he does not get the reaction he has hoped for he goes on.

“I am sure we will find some way to get in there as ‘cargo’.”

The smirk he gets in response is mischievous.

-

Lance has always known space was cold.

Only now does he realize just how cold it truly was. Their plan has worked just fine - they even managed to haggle the price for smuggling them through Galra control down to a reasonable level. What Lance had not counted on though was the lack of insulation in the bay where their vessel has been parked. And heating up the pod is not an option if they do not want to get the attention of the Galra.

His breath is clouding in front of his face as he shivers miserably.

Lotor, despite his obvious discomfort, still seems to be holding out better. Lance guesses it has to do with the fact that he is indeed an alien.

Lance gets the words out through chattering teeth: “Are all hot aliens impervious to the cold?”

He is rewarded with a laugh, for once not hidden behind a hand. Small victories still do exist.

-

His eyelids barely open when he awakes next time.

He is indescribably tired. Still, he feels the need to get out of the many layers he has thrown over himself. His hands are stopped by a tight hold on them.

“Don’t.”

The command is quiet. Lance’s eyes go up to Lotor’s face. The furrow above his eyebrows is a novelty. His brain does not pick up on the fact just how close they are.

“We will arrive soon.”

Lance gives a small nod.

-

Lotor looks irritable for once.

“I will not repeat myself.”

His tone leaves no room for argument. Lance takes it as his cue to completely ignore it.

“I’m still sorry.” And he is. His plan may have worked splendidly concerning their problem with getting past the Galra but it almost left him half-frozen to death with Lotor having had to figure out how to keep his sorry behind from dying from hypothermia.

To add insult to injury, he is now probably on his best way of coming down with a fever. He’s a complete deadweight.

He had hoped to leave all of this behind when he boarded the pod.

_You can’t escape yourself._

The thought stings.

-

Benaram’s atmosphere is not healthy for any other lifeform but its indigenous species’ but it at least provides all the comforts intergalactic travelers from all over the universe can possibly afford.

Lance is at least glad that oxygen is not toxic for Lotor because figuring out a way how to work with their meager budget to get two separate rooms would have been impossible.

As it was they got a room with two bunks and an adjacent bathroom. Nothing fancy but hopefully enough to get at least two nights of good rest.

Lotor slowly lowers him down on the bunk and Lance lets himself fall back on the hard mattress.

He had held out over the last few days but he has grown progressively weaker over the last two. He had been able to manage his symptoms but Lotor had deemed it necessary for them to gather their strength again.

Lotor is laying out his plan on how to best spend the next few hours, readying himself to leave when Lance grabs his hand.

Golden eyes are wide with surprise.

“Please, just stay a little longer?”

Lance knows he is being clingy. It’s what he is most afraid of.

After a few agonizingly long seconds, his new friend relents.

“Alright.”

Lance is fast asleep when Lotor leaves.

-

Lance is convinced that his cooking has improved under Hunk’s tutelage. He’s just glad that some of the advice that had started to gather dust at the back of his brain is also applicable to the strange space cabbage Lotor has brought back.

There is no kitchen to work in but he makes do with one of Lotor’s daggers and a lot of patience.

It’s nothing fancy: just a recipe for a salad bowl he and Hunk once refined.

While Lance has no qualms inhaling the fresh food, Lotor seems a little less enthusiastic.

Lance gives a sigh, spork clattering against the rim of the already used food container he has repurposed.

“Sorry, I guess it didn’t really turn out like it should have.”

Lotor is giving him this look again. This undefinable narrowing of his eyes Lance can never seem to fully decipher.

“It is… rather unusual.”

Lance snorts.

“Yeah, just admit that it tastes horrible.”

A beat. Two eyes glancing down at the multicolored mess and back up at Lance.

“It’s disgusting.”

Lance can’t help but laugh out loud.

-

Turns out it wasn’t his fault exactly. The stuff Lotor likes to eat is just as abominable as Coran’s paladin lunch.

“If I die” Lance says dramatically with tears stinging his eyes “I will personally haunt you.”

Lotor never stops making fun of him being unable to handle what he officially labelled as ‘sweets’.

“More like death traps in disguise.” Lance adds under his breath.

-

Lance gives a low sound of awe as they chase the tail of a comet. It is so different from all those movies he’s watched as a kid.

It is every bit as magical and beautiful but it’s just _so_ different.

Sometimes he still does wonder if he just hit his head and is experiencing a frighteningly vivid dream.

Lotor encourages him to make twists and turns. Nothing of that ‘watch out’ nonsense.

Lance goes wild, howling like a madman when he does spins and loops.

Although he misses Blue with a fiery passion, he feels free and happy for the first time in a long time.

-

They just managed to avoid another run-in with the team.

Their pod awaited them a good few Daboshes away from the city they had been strolling through and the strong magnetic field was enough to make even the best equipped spaceship have faulty read-outs.

It was probably the only reason the others had resorted to asking around with a picture of him in hand instead of waiting at their pod.

Lance had grabbed Lotor’s wrist and run.

Now they are back in space, putting as much distance between themselves and Voltron as is feasible with their small transportation.

It’s quiet while Lotor steers the pod, Lance opting to look outside.

“You do know that as long as we have this pod they will find us?”

Lance gives a grunt, resting his chin in the palm of his hand.

“The pod’s not the problem,” he mutters quietly “it’s my connection to Blue. So we might as well keep this one.”

Lotor sounds puzzled: “What do you mean by that?”

Lance does not answer and decides to channel Keith by drawing up his hood over his head.

He wished he could end this conversation on a better note.

-

A new galaxy, a new planet, a new room they will be staying in for another three days.

This time Lotor comes back with not just supplies but with an urn that has the colors of the rainbow chasing over its polished, dark surface.

When Lance inspects it, he notices the slits at its top.

“What is this?”

Lotor’s smile is worrying.

“This is _mirtanawar,_ a remedy said to quell even the greatest of fears.”

Lance’s interest is piqued. The last few days and especially the fact that he almost came back face to face with his friends had put him in a horrible funk. He honestly did not envy Lotor for his company.

“You know” he says, looking up at the man “I think this is going to be great.”

The smugness twinkling in those golden orbs does not escape Lance. But if this is anything like what he thinks this is, then Lotor has every right to be.

-

The ceiling is getting blurry with all the smoke coming out of the urn, although Lance is not sure if he should rather blame it on his failing ability to focus.

He is on the ground, spread-eagled, a lazy smile stretching his lips. His head muddled and sluggish but right here, right now Lance does not care one bit. He is comfortable and at ease.

His thumb runs over the hand he has clasped in his.

“Thank you.”

His eyes try to follow the motion of Lotor heaving his torso up to be able to look at him directly. He seems a little more alert than Lance. Before he can ask, he already gets his answer.

“It’s been so long.”

Working around his numb tongue is difficult but Lance makes it work through sheer force of will.

“You make feel safe again. You make me feel like _myself_ again.”

Through drooping eyelids he sees a painfully gentle smile.

-

_After Shiro’s disappearance nothing is the same anymore._

_Their whole dynamic is broken. Their teamwork suffers more than ever. Lance can admit that he is not helping despite trying his best._

_Hunk is a mess made of anxiety and worry, holed up in a workshop with a subdued Pidge in hopes of finding clues about their leader’s whereabouts._

_Coran and Allura withdraw. Another loss and yet no time to be idle, to let it sink in. To sit back._

_Keith getting angrier and more aggressive by the day, fearing for his brother figure’s life and wellbeing. Straining under the immense pressure of new responsibilities._

_Lance caught in the middle of it; doing his best which is never enough. Getting irritated and snarky despite knowing better._

_Slav’s talk making little to no sense although Lance gets the feeling that he, just like everyone else, he just wants to see Shiro again. Lance would almost say the scientist got attached._

_Missions becoming a challenge without Shiro’s calm voice grounding them when fire and explosions roar around them. Keith going into the fray as if he were on a crusade. Wanting to portray the leader Shiro was when he is too heartbroken to stay focused._

_Lance unnecessarily snapping at him when another mission hits too close to home; when it puts both Pidge and Hunk in positions that are far too perilous to be considered an occupational hazard._

_Keith reminding him of their respective places on the team. Not even Allura being able to mediate between them._

_Their quarrels getting more heated, until it’s only a question of time until they maul each other in the most physical sense._

_Lance feeling depression and homesickness eating away the seams he has been holding onto for far too long for the sake of his teammates. The least he can do to contribute is to keep his shit together he reasons._

_He is not a subtle as he believes himself to be._

“If you want to go back then just do it!”

_Along with everything coming from Keith that day (questioning his abilities as a good team member and his loyalty to their cause), it’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back._

_So what if he was homesick? So what if he did feel useless, lonely and unappreciated?_

_He was intimately familiar with these feelings. Had been for years. That was something he could handle._

_What he couldn’t handle was people knowing about it and not giving a damn._

_Hunk, Coran and even Pidge trying to minimize the damage. Even Allura is willing to acknowledge that it was out of line._

_Keith avoids him and he avoids Keith._

_Lance is sure that even if Shiro were still here, forming Voltron now would no longer be possible._

_He plays pretend for three more days before he leaves, knowing that they would only be on guard on the first._

_He constantly looks back both out of a twisted sense of hope and paralyzing fear._

_The hope dies away after the first month. The fear dulls but it remains._

_-_

“What is on your mind?”

Lance startles out of his trance, letting go of the strand of hair he had been glaring at for the last few minutes. He blows it out of his face but it does not work so well when he has just soaked it in the shower.

“I’m growing a mullet.” His grumble is laced with faded disdain as he lets himself fall down on the thin mattress of his bed with dramatics worthy of a theatrical production. Despite his obvious amusement it is clear Lotor does not get the irony.

“My hair… it’s getting longer and… it looks a whole lot like Keith’s.”

He is taken aback by the shadow crossing his friend’s face. Yet, it happens so fast Lance has barely any time to truly register it before Lotor’s features smooth out. He almost manages to pretend it’s a trick of the light.

When he offers to help Lance fixing his hair, Lance does not object.

-

Once he’s opened up about his teammates it gets easier talking about them. Even though Lance has no qualms talking grandly about himself, he actually enjoyed speaking about his friends just as much if not more.

His having gone away changed nothing about that even if the memory is soured.

Lotor is actually pretty interested and Lance is glad he has such a receptive audience. He is just about to get into how Coran and Hunk almost blew up Yellow’s bay when Lotor interrupts him.

“And what about you?”

Lance is taken by such surprise he can do nothing but stare, his body frozen in shock.

His question just has Lotor repeating his.

“There must have been something you liked to do in the castle.”

Lance feels himself deflating. Any more, and he might just melt into his co-pilot chair.

“I-“ he stops, suddenly much more ashamed than he would like to feel or admit.

“I usually helped Coran clean the pods.”

Because even in spite of his jokes of going and chilling in the depths of the Castle Lance had had a bit too much free time on his hands. He couldn’t just go and pursue all the interests he had had back on Earth. He was no book worm but he missed his computer, filled with scans of comic books and the occasional e-book about space, short stories, and fantasy. He missed his storage unit – one terabyte – with just music. He missed the videogames he had started and almost never finished.

Becoming a brave defender of the universe had not come with a notice. The only things he had still had on his person were his wallet with pictures of his family and a phone whose battery had died a long time ago. A useless weight hidden in the depths of his pocket.

Unlike Hunk or Pidge, he was not really up to experimenting with alien tech and unlike Keith or Shiro he was not willing to spend more time than necessary on the training deck.

The pool had turned out as a complete let-down and even if Lance had dredged up the motivation to read, the fact that everything in the Castle’s library was in Altean was another block in the road to beating boredom.

He might have played the pouting teenager but when he was cleaning with Coran or cooking with Hunk or even visiting Blue in her hangar, he was at least doing something instead of laying on is bed and staring up at a blank ceiling.

Once the air became suffocating with Shiro’s absence he only was left with visiting his beautiful Lady or trying to comfort the others by the best of his abilities.

They lapse into silence and Lance hopes he has not lost what little respect Lotor might have had for him.

-

“A knife is nothing like a rifle or gun. It may demand just as much precision but in battle it has to become an extension of your arm.”

Lance weights the weapon in the palm of his hand, trying to feel this ‘balance’ Lotor has been going on about. After their last discussion, the man has been making sure to see for himself the extent of Lance’s abilities as a sniper.

He is blunt but not harsh when he admits that Lance still has room for improvement.

“You are not yet good enough to hold your own on the battlefield. The moment the enemy reaches you, it is too late for you to react. You need to be able to hold out until backup arrives.”

Lance makes a sound that borders on sarcastic.

“It’s not like I’m planning on going back on the battlefield.”

In a moment of single-minded focus Lance is not prepared for the retort that will has him laughing for reasons he cannot grasp.

“Never say never.”

-

“Never say say never, my a- holy quiznak!”

Lance dodges the laser from a drone missing his head narrowly but singeing his hair and making his eyes burn from the stink.

He and Lotor had separated to get supplies, the air of the planet for once not poisonous to Lance, although whatever gases are floating in the greenish atmosphere leave him a little woozy.

He had not counted on running into a Galra drone walking the perimeter of the market he was strolling through.

The crate he is currently misusing as a barrier sizzles when another blast hits. Glancing back he can see the drone fast approaching his spot. Lance whips out the gun Lotor let him borrow, steadying himself on the hard surface of the crate and aims.

The drone goes down in a fizz of sparks and Lance whoops victoriously, ready to leave his spot when he catches movement to his right.

Another drone is coming at him from a dark gap between the multicolored tents and stands and Lance has no time before the gun is knocked out of his hands, flying in an arch and landing in the dirt with a squelch.

He screams as he goes down, rolling out of the way as the drone is about to grill him.

His fingers find the knife, a gift from Lotor, and he wastes no time plunging it into one of the drone’s knee joints and twisting it, lubricant and an oily liquid instantly coating the handle.

Lance jumps to his feet, running with the drone now limping behind and missing shots.

A crash resounding through the screams of panicked shoppers running past him makes him turn around.

The smile on his face hurts his cheeks as he watches Lotor dislodge both his and Lance’s knife from the machine.

His golden eyes are glinting with pride.

-

Lance is finally aware of how long they have now been travelling together when Lotor has to help him trim his locks a second time.

“Can you believe we’ve been at this for, I dunno, three months?”, he asks casually around a mouthful of whatever the heck they purchased in that last space mall. It’s not bad but it’s bland.

Lotor’s nose wrinkles and Lance finds it absolutely hilarious that of all the things the man would be bothered by was people talking with their mouths full. It’s why he does it in the first place.

But despite his shudder at Lance’s obnoxiously disgusting display, he seems to lose himself in thought.

“I admit that I had not been aware of it until you mentioned it.”

Lance is awestruck at the way he seems lost; not necessarily in a bad way.

It is the look of someone realizing they were having a good time.

Lance has no problem admitting to himself he feels the same way.

He might feel infinitely better without the knowledge that his happiness comes at a price.

-

When Lotor first voices his proposition, Lance almost has a fit and the topic is dropped faster than one of Pidge’s explosive side-projects.

Lance knew good things were not meant to last but why the heck did it have to be his friend ruining everything?!

They have never been this silent before, the air crackling with Lance’s barely contained ire.

_“I think you should go back to your team.”_

His knuckles turn white as he continues steering their pod through an asteroid belt. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see Lotor clutching at his seat, Lance’s risky maneuvers driving his blood out of his face.

He knows where this is coming from and it’s not like he hasn’t been thinking about it from time to time.

Team Voltron is gaining on them again. It seems the closer he gets to Earth, the more desperate they are to catch him. It kind of makes his blood boil unreasonably hot, makes his head blank in a way that is almost frightening.

Just one look. What he wouldn’t give for just one look at his family.

And his team knows that. It’s what makes him so angry.

But he also knows that the moment he would find himself in his mother’s arms again, he would never be able to let go.

-

It takes merely a week of Lotor casually bringing it up again and again before Lance finally allows himself to think things through.

He sees the appeal in Lotor’s arguments, understands the necessity of Voltron making sure that no other force eases itself into the space left by Zarkon’s downfall.

But when he remembers the atmosphere on the ship, remembers the hurt coming from the void in his chest – a void that still makes itself painfully known at times – and feels that soul-deep shakiness resurface; he is suddenly no longer so sure he can turn back.

He is scared that things will be exactly the way they were before he decided to steal one of the pods. He knows he can’t take it. It might just break him and there would be no way to fix him. It is the only thing he is completely certain of.

“You know that is not true.”

He opens his mouth to spew some half-baked, petty retort but Lotor won’t let him.

His whole posture is intimidating, especially for someone who barely reaches Lance’s nose, but there is no heat behind his words.

“Things inevitably must have changed after you left. It is impossible for a closely linked unit as the pilots of Voltron to not be shaken by the wiling departure of one of their own.”

Lance wants to believe him so much, yet his heart does not allow it, twinging with an emptiness he had almost forgotten about. It had been there ever since he had turned his back on his friends.

“They will never look at me the same way again.”

The muscles around his jaw cramp up as he forces himself to press out his greatest fear.

Lotor’s hand on his shoulder is warm. Like always, it manages to calm him down.

“No, they won’t. Because you will prove to them the extent of your strength and resolve.”

The tears streaming down his face are nothing like the mess from when he had purged himself in front of Lotor in the haze that was the _mirtanawar_.

He’s glad that the universe was kind enough to have sent him such a good friend.

 

End of Part I: The Lost

 

Now pick your poison

 

They both looked to the sky                 They part ways ~~  
~~

(Go to **Chapter 2** )                               (Go to **Chapter 3** )

 


	2. They both look to the sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: graphic depiction of violence/ choking/ injury/ emotional manipulation  
> This was such hard work and it’s far from perfect. This is the first time I’ve worked on such a tight schedule but I’m really proud of what I’ve been able to do in that short amount of time.  
> Please note that I do not have to agree with the characters’ actions and that we are talking about traumatized people in a war.  
> Otherwise, have fun reading!

They both looked to the sky in nervous anticipation, the violet and scarlet hues painting the planet’s atmosphere like a canvas.

Lance can feel his insides summersaulting, sweat coating his palms and brow, twitching and agitating his feet every few seconds. His team will be here any moment but nothing is visible past the dark clouds.

“Breathe.” Lotor advises in a hushed whisper.

Lance snorts in amusement: as though anyone could overhear them in the middle of a wasteland far away from the next settlement. He flashes his friend a grateful smile anyway, offering his hand and lips stretching further when their fingers intertwine.

Despite his calm, Lance notices the dimness of his friend’s golden irises – a nervousness he’s seldom displayed.

Lance opens his mouth, unsure what exactly it is he wants to say, when suddenly the clouds overhead warp and deform, the Castleship’s engines emerging first, its blue fires stirring up and swirling the water particles.

Lance’s heart rate picks up and he feels Lotor’s fingers twitch.

The time it takes for the lander to settle in the dust stretches infinitely until Lance is entirely too unprepared for when those doors open, his team spilling out.

Two figures come barreling out, one tiny, one bulky, and Lance hardly has the presence of mind to prepare himself for the inevitable impact on the ground as they tackle him.

There are exclamations of joy, threats of bodily harm for being a quiznacking idiot, and tears Lance does not even try to hide but does his best at keeping at bay.

Hunk and Pidge seem just as incapable on deciding what to feel in the first place but that’s fine. He, for his part, is relieved.

“Who are you?”

The hostility in Keith’s voice has Lance looking at the other three people having come to personally pick him up. While the Blue Paladin let himself be dog-piled by his Garrison buddies Keith, Allura and Coran had had their attention drawn to Lotor.

Keith’s arms are at his sides, ready to draw his weapons if need be. Lance has been in enough battles with him to recognize the way his hand tenses. Coran, though not glaring like the black-haired young man, still stands between Allura and the stranger as a human shield.

The second Lance catches a flicker of doubt on Lotor’s face he’s in motion, detaching himself from Hunk and Pidge and standing beside his travel buddy, making a show by slinging his arm around his shoulders.

The smile he flashes is less jovial and more like a silent warning.

“This” he says, jostling Lotor a little and earning a sour look for it “is my friend Lotor. Lotor, Defenders of the Universe. Defenders of the Universe, Lotor”

He finishes, exaggeratingly motioning between the parties.

The introductions do little to appease Keith but he relaxes his posture. Their eyes meet. There is something in Keith’s gaze both indecipherable and yet unmistakable. Maybe not all hope is lost, maybe he can make things right again. It’s also then that Lance takes note of the short ponytail he’s sporting.

Coran instantly brightens up, something Lance can only attribute to their mutual trust and it warms his heart, stirring a sudden fondness that is strong and incredible in light of their meeting. He only now realizes just _how much_ he’s missed him, how much he’s missed all of these people.

Pidge and Hunk only now seem to have registered that Lance wasn’t alone, getting up and greeting the young man. Coran is no less enthusiastic and Lance almost cracks up when Keith, just as socially inept as he remembers him, tries to salvage his unflattering first impression with a mumbled apology and an acknowledging nod.

Despite saying it’s fine, Lance can see the corner of Lotor’s lip twitch in distaste. They exchange a look – a quiet promise to talk later.

Finally, Allura steps forward and after a short moment of assessing both Lance and the newcomer, extends her hand just as Hunk did, a polite but sincere smile on her face.

“It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Allura, princess of Altea. I would like to thank you for having kept our friend safe.”

Under different circumstances Lance might have tried to play the offended teenager, might have cracked a joke or flirted just for the heck of it. Right now though he watches and waits, anxious for reasons he cannot name as Lotor stares at Allura’s outstretched hand wordlessly and then her face.

Then, there is clear amusement crinkling Lotor’s eyes as he shakes the royal’s hand.

“The pleasure’s all mine.”

-

They give Lotor the tour, simultaneously trying to quickly update Lance. They are holding back information and he can only guess it has to do with his new friend who seems fascinated with the Altean technology and keeps shooting questions left and right, sometimes so random in topic that Lance has a hard time keeping it together.

He has only seen him this animated when explaining how to use a blade.

Under pretense of wanting to show Lotor the kitchen and getting food-goo ready, he on the other hand is whisked away to the bridge by Allura and Keith, their expression much more serious and guarded than before. First tendrils of unease grow along his spine, tingling and extending to his heart and lungs, making it hard to breathe.

When they reach their destination he feels on the verge of a panic attack, trying frantically to remember all and any methods and tricks he had learned with Hunk as his roommate with his constant panic attacks. He suddenly gets why at times his buddy would ask him to just drop it and leave.

He holds very still as both leaders of Voltron turn to face him, arms crossed and expressions undefinable, shoulders stiff.

No one is speaking and Lance knows he cannot start this conversation, his throat won’t cooperate.

Keith is the first one to take pity on him.

“It’s good to have you back.”

Lance lets out a shaky and nervous wheeze, trying to cover it up with a chuckle that has no one fooled.

“Good to be back.”

His mouth is painfully dry, his tongue as heavy as lead.

Allura’s expression does not change much but at the very least she uncrosses her arms.

“What makes you presume we are welcoming you back?”

It is a cruel question and one that Lance knows is probably some ‘test of character’ of sorts where he has to give the right answer to get back into Allura’s good graces.

There are a number of answers he could give: that he’s the Blue Paladin and that they need him to form Voltron. That they are a team, a family, and that they should forgive each other. That if he is not welcome, why even try to get him back? Why even invite him back inside the Castle?

Yet, it all sounds inadequate, unsatisfactory and ungrateful.

He looks at her face, searches her eyes, but the princess is unwilling to give him anything. He has to know how to answer this on his own, to take responsibility.

Unable to lock gaze with her much longer he instead stares at his worn and dirty sneakers.

“I’m sorry I left.” He thinks it’s a good start. “I shouldn’t have done it, I get that now. I just…”

He has to take a breath, nervousness making his hands tingle, driving him to jam them inside his pockets to keep them from fidgeting.

“I wanted to see my family again.”

It’s quiet and Lance can’t will himself to look up, to deal with the reactions.

“I get that it was selfish but I…” and he finally makes himself look into surprisingly understanding eyes “I really miss them. Each and every day.”

His breathing becomes more ragged and he swallows to keep the tears at bay. This isn’t the time to unravel in front of his leaders even if the longing eats at him.

“After that final battle, I just had thought that we could go home and when Shiro disappeared and we only kept wormholing further and further away from Earth –“

He stops, for one because he realizes he’s getting off track and also that he still hasn’t answered the actual question, only making excuses they probably don’t want to hear.

He wipes the moisture from his eyes with his middle finger and pointer, feeling how he unconsciously makes himself smaller.

“I’m sorry for abandoning you.”

And that’s it.

He keeps his head down and waits for the final verdict, waits with measured breaths and the occasional sniffle.

He probably blew it but at least he got out the apology that was long overdue.

There is the rustle of clothes and Lance stiffens when strong arms envelop him and white strands tickle his nose. His brain can’t catch up to the fact that Allura is initiating a hug, which also explains why he isn’t returning it at once, letting his arms dangle as he feels his eyes bulge.

He catches Keith’s expression though, something knowing hidden in the stretch of his lips.

His attention is back on Allura though the moment he hears her whisper in his ear: “I am also sorry.”

Lance wants to protest but she won’t let him.

“I tend to forget that Coran and I are not the only ones having to sacrifice a lot to this war.”

Her voice is steady and kind in a way that Lance is not familiar with. It makes him realize that it truly has been four months that he has been away, that he missed the chance to witness this change because he left.

“I understand that you miss your planet, your home, your family.”

Of course she would.

She draws back a little, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders. In that moment, Lance is reminded of his eldest sister, the day he left for the Garrison, that same sort of wistfulness that had made Lance wonder why it was there in the first place.

“And I know that I have said it to Keith once and by now to everyone else but you: over the time we have spent together, I have come to consider all of you as family. And maybe it is because our cultures are so different or maybe because I do not show it to you often enough, but I am thankful and grateful for your being here, for having assisted us in taking down the man responsible for the demise of our people, for having stood by our side through it all even when it was a lot to ask of you.”

His lower lip is wobbling dangerously and Allura reaches out a hand to brush a few stray hairs out of his eyes.

“Zarkon may have been defeated but the Galra Empire still exists. The universe still needs Voltron.”

It’s an uncomfortable truth, one Lance has been running from for too long now.

“I know that I asked all of you to help us take down Zarkon. That my wording made it appear like your commitment would end once he was gone. It was naïve and misleading.”

“That makes two of us.”

He knows he should not interrupt her but it needs to be said, even if it makes Allura purse her lips a little. But the seriousness behind his wry smile seems to tell her enough to not comment on it further.

He had thought along the same lines and clung to something that logically and now, after ample discussions with Lotor, makes a lot of sense. He does not have to like it but that’s the way things are.

What good would it be to get back to Earth, to his family, when the Galra still could strike at any moment? He always had known it to some degree but his own homesickness and loneliness had smothered reason.

He notices the way Keith holds himself in the background, a restless, nervous energy making it hard for the black-haired teen to stay still.

Allura now withdraws completely, Lance hurriedly straightening out his jacket even though it’s completely unnecessary. Just something to occupy his hands with so he does not start flapping them against his thighs.

“I wish I could give you an option.”

There is now sadness in the princess’ eyes and it hurts that he knows exactly what she is going to say.

“But fate is not something Alteans fought and something I cannot promise you to overcome for your sake. But please – would you allow me to ask you to once again to take on the mantle of a Paladin of Voltron? To be a protector of the innocent? To help us and to confide in us?”

He realizes that in all of this, Allura has not once promised him to return to Earth. He can only guess that she is doing it on purpose. Because it simply is not something she can promise and that may be the hardest part to accept about all of this.

“Yes.”

Even as he says it, quiet but unwaveringly, his mouth presses into a thin line with his chin trembling with the effort of accepting for himself the decision he is making. There will be no going back from here on out. No right to question it.

“Thank you.”

Allura inclines her head, her eyes not leaving his. Fully understanding the deal they are making and all of the ugly implications. Fully accepting of a burden they both know she will now carry even if Lance does not want her to.

Keith seems to want to say something once a quiet settles over them but it’s obvious he can’t find the right words to express it. He glances at Lance, and despite the determination and fire in those dark eyes, Lance can clearly detect the helplessness, the need to apologize.

“Don’t sweat it. Take your time.”

Keith nods, giving a barely perceptible sigh. Lance is willing to give him time to figure it out; maybe it will even be easier now that they are back on the ship and not stewing in their own thoughts without knowing whether the other is even willing to have this conversation.

But Lance will not let it be forgotten. He wants that apology from Keith, because as much as he had needed to apologize for leaving him and the team behind, what Keith said the day he decided to leave still hurts, still keeps him up some nights, making him wonder whether he was right when he knows for a fact that some of the acidic accusations were completely uncalled for.

He is more than ready to move past this and to forgive. But he won’t forget.

-

Lotor seems to fit right in, despite the initial reservations.

Lance had known Allura would take to him, the both of them so well-groomed the only logical outcome for their meeting was for the both of them to bond over the lack of manners of their human table companions.

He could keep up with Hunk and Pidge’s quick thinking. His near-encyclopedic _up-to-date_ knowledge could even rival Coran’s, providing ample topics for discussions.

Lance was glad and relieved to see them enjoying themselves.

Really, the only ones that were being difficult were Keith and Coran, although with the latter Lance only could tell because he had come to know the man. And right now, Coran was sitting far too stiffly in his chair. Soon hopefully he will also warm up to their momentary guest.

As for Keith… Lance cannot blame him. More than once, he has had to throw Lotor a warning glare when nobody else was looking. His and Keith’s rivalry and jabs were one thing, but Lance knew Lotor and his, at times, rather cruel way of insulting people without them noticing. It was something that had bothered Lance and which his friend had since tried hard to keep at a minimum but for whatever reason it seemed impossible whenever Keith came even remotely close to him.

Lance got an uneasy feeling that he was at the source of this aggressive behavior. And really? He could not even fault Keith when he bit back, a deep scowl darkening his expression.

But that was something he could work out. Something he had to work out.

Soon enough, dinner is over and Lance starts helping Hunk gathering the plates, putting a firm hand on Lotor’s shoulder and pushing him back down into his chair when he tries to join them, simply giving him a smile and pointing with his chin to the remaining people at the table who are still chattering.

Hunk and him make quick work of putting the dishes into the Altean equivalent of a dishwasher and he is glad to see a relaxed smile on his best friend’s face as he passes him one plate after another. They catch each other’s eye and grin.

He perks up a little when he hears Allura ask Lotor: “What are your future plans?”

As he takes his seat between Lotor to his left and Hunk who plops himself down to his right, he watches as the man in question goes through the answers in his head. Lance also comes to realize that he had not thought past the moment of the reunion with his team, finding himself just as curious as the rest of them. What was Lotor going to do now? Because, obviously, their little road-trip came to a definite end now.

It was a much more oppressing thought than Lance would have expected.

Lotor leans back in his chair, shrugging in a way he has picked up from Lance after the months spent together.

“To tell you the truth, even I do not know. I usually travel with whoever either is willing to let me stay or accept what money or labor I can offer.” He smiles conspiratorially. “I can assure you that it never gets boring.”

He makes a short pause to drink from one of the pouches, an opportunity which Allura seizes to offer him their pod. It has the Paladins and Coran looking at her in mild surprise but Lance has the sneaking suspicion that it is her way of thanking him for having kept Lance company and to have convinced him to return. It was something he had alluded to as they had made their way back to the dining area.

Lotor shakes his head, a grateful but courteous smile on his lips.

“That won’t be necessary. I prefer travelling with other people rather than on my own but thanks for your kind offer. I am sure that I will be able to hitch a lift once I go to this planet’s interplanetary hub.”

“You know, maybe you could just come with us and we would drop you off once you’ve had enough.”

Lance did not expect Pidge of all people to make such a bold suggestion but he can understand why she would – Lotor is smart and can hold a conversation with her just like Hunk. He knows the latest tech and whatever it was she had shown to him earlier was something he had recognized and explained in detail.

It would be a shame for her not to take this opportunity to learn more from someone just as intelligent as her.

But Lance can also see that all of the others are not smitten enough yet to let a complete stranger stay at the Castle, Keith, Hunk and Coran all looking uncomfortable. Allura also seems cautious to make any such agreement.

Lotor chuckles at Pidge’s brashness.

“Thank you very much, but I do not want to overstay my welcome.”

And for some reason _that_ seems to sway Hunk and Allura the tiniest bit.

“You know, I don’t think it’s that bad of an idea.” His expression is friendly and welcoming, and Lance just knows that the guy was just trying to hold back the enthusiasm Pidge had no qualms displaying. He also gives Lance a short smile before leaning a bit further over the table with his arms crossed, addressing Allura directly. “I’m sure it’d be fun to have a few more people on the ship.”

And Lance is shocked when Allura seems to actually be _considering_ the idea in all seriousness.

Lance knows Lotor wants to interject, his mouth already opened when Keith suddenly pipes up.

“We’re not a cab company, remember?” Lance is not used to this new tone, to this sheer authority Keith is displaying. He really must have grown into his role over time. When Hunk and Pidge look away guiltily, Keith turns to look Lotor directly in the eyes, his arms crossed.

“We’re fighting a war against the Galra. We get into pretty dangerous situations on a daily basis.”

Lotor seems to take on the quiet challenge: “Even if I did accept, I can assure you that you would not have to worry for my safety. I am fully capable of defending myself if need be.”

Lance can attest to it but Keith looks unconvinced. Lance somewhat understands: Lotor is of a smaller stature, does not have the looks or the manners one would peg on a fighter. If anything, Lance would say he resembles a wandering scholar.

The tension in the air is uncomfortable and far more charged than Lance would like it to be.

Lotor is the one breaking it by standing up and casting one last look at each of them.

“Thank you for your hospitality, I shall be on my way.”

“You could stay the night at least.”

Everyone’s attention is suddenly on Lance and he can feel his face warming up at it for once. It was out of line of him, considering he only just came back.

“I mean”, he flounders when the stares, not necessarily discouraging but undefinable, do not stop, “We are not going to take off for tonight if I understood correctly, right Coran?”

“Indeed.” The advisor replies, drawing out his reply. Lance nods in thanks before turning back to the rest of his audience, his voice growing stronger with confidence.

“It’s getting dark and the day’s been long. Tomorrow you’ll be able to go.”

It’s a sound logic and one none of them can argue against too much, not even Lotor or Keith.

Needless to say, the next morning the Castle leaves orbit, with Lotor still on board.

-

Lotor, for lack of a better word, is enchanted by the Castle and its many technological advancement (as outdated as they may now be).

He is curious, thirsting for knowledge and needling Coran with questions whenever he gets the chance and whenever the advisor is willing to share.

Lance finds it absolutely hilarious and endearing.

It also put into perspective just why Lotor is so knowledgeable about as many things as he is. After all the months where he had been a sort of tutor to Lance in space survival 101, it was interesting seeing him so awed and enthralled with something.

Also, it’s totally unfair how quickly he picked up Altean.

A fact Pidge is currently moaning about to him.

“It’s sooooooo not fair. I’ve been at it for months and he masters it in like… three days!”

Lance nods at the muffled groan coming from the cushions, patting Pidge’s back sympathetically without looking up from the book Allura has given him to read.

Paladin homework.

Some manual about the systems of the Lions and what to do if they failed. It was amazing what Pidge and Hunk had been able to accomplish with a little coding, seeing as this was an Altean book they had run through their translation program. There were a few inconsistencies and some really odd-sounding expression the program had been unable to transfer into anything remotely understandable but seeing as it was a manual, those passages were few and between.

He scrolls down on the pad, stilling when Pidge actually moves and plops herself onto his lap like an outstretched cat, fiddling with something she must have carried in one of her pockets.

He holds his arms up in the air, staring down at her in surprise, eyes wide but she does not give him any sort of explanation.

So, slowly, Lance resumes his reading, afraid to comment and potentially aggravate the resident tech gremlin.  
As civilly as she’s behaved around him so far, Lance can tell there is a lingering anger, the quiet kind that simmers and which he is all too familiar with from his many sisters back home.

Which is why Pidge so willingly hanging out with him, takes him by surprise. If anything, she should be avoiding him.

He can’t relax, too nervous and agitated about potentially messing this up.

A quiet mumble makes him flinch.

“I’m trying really hard to forgive you.”

He blinks at Pidge, her caramel eyes looking at him in all earnest. Yet, there is more going on behind them, it’s obvious she is gauging his reaction but for what, Lance cannot tell.

She turns back to concentrate on her work but keeps on rambling.

“I mean, I kind of get what happened. Why you went away. That doesn’t make it better or make me any less furious that you left in the first place. You should have talked to us, you know? That’s what people should do. Not sneak out in the middle of the night, without so much as a note and just letting us worry and wonder whether you’re alright or even alive. And do you even realize how shitty it was when we could not get a signal from that pod! We were so scared some kind of gigantic spaceworm had eaten you and now we would never be able to locate and help you-“

“Pidge.”

He interrupts her only because the longer she talks, the faster she gets, more urgent, talking herself into a frenzy until she barely pauses to breathe.

His interruption is met with an indignant scowl.

“What!”

“I’m really sorry.”

The quiet apology must have been a good indication as to how serious he is being about it.

She stares at him for a moment, her eyes huge behind the spectacles, before quickly turning away her face but Lance still catches a glimpse of the tiny blush decorating her cheeks.

“Just don’t do it again. I’m tired of people just leaving.”

Lance feels his lips draw into a tiny smile, ruffling her hair gently before going back to his book.

They lapse back into companionable silence, each working on their own project and for a moment, Lance feels like he has regained some semblance of home.

He is sure that Pidge feels the same way and it makes him incredibly happy.

He will make sure to contribute to it in the future.

-

He had never appreciated Shiro enough for his patience when dealing with his and Keith’s bullshit. Or mostly his bullshit, seeing as he was the one to insist on his rivalry with the Garrison prodigy.

He certainly does now though, as he unexpectedly slips into the role the man had once occupied. Only it wasn’t about him and Keith, but about Lotor and Keith.

And he was starting to get annoyed fast.

“Will you quit it!”

Pairs of golden and violet eyes turn to him, both narrowed in annoyance.

Lance counts the fact that the both of them have stopped as a victory already.

“He started it!” Keith’s voice is accusatory, an angry flush coloring his cheeks and fists clenched so hard it makes the leather of his gloves creak audibly.

Lotor turns his gaze towards the floor, frown tugging the corners of his mouth down. He remains silent but Lance knows him well enough now to understand he is actually pouting.

Lance takes a deep, deep breath and counts from ten backwards. Why is he being reminded of the twins right now? Probably because these two are behaving just as ridiculously as the toddlers.

He suddenly feels rather uncomfortable knowing that this must have been what it had looked like to everyone else a few months back and it makes Lance rather ashamed. He really could be a brat at times.

“How about I take Lotor here,” he says in an exaggeratedly sunny tone, grabbing the man in question by the biceps “and you go cool down for a moment? Promise I’ll drop by later!”

His suggestion and smile do not appease Keith in the slightest, face still dark and stormy but he backs down, turning on his heel to disappear into the depths of the Castle.

Either he will go to the training room, go vent to Hunk (as Lance has taken note of recently) or hang out with Red, any of those were a safe bet.

Once he is out of sight, Lance turns towards Lotor, his false cheeriness falling away instantly.

“Whatever it is you are doing: stop it.”

Lotor looks up at him, challenge burning bright in his eyes. And something else Lance cannot place. The closest he can come to describe it is incredulousness.

“Why are you being like this anyway?”

He really wants to understand because he is not used to this downright viciousness Lotor is displaying.

But his friend keeps his mouth shut, not even his eyes betraying anything he might be feeling or thinking, simply regarding Lance as though he were the one needing to explain his behavior.

He swipes a hand through his hair and lets it rest around his neck, massaging a muscle that has been bothering for a while now.

When, after another few seconds, the silence persists Lance decides it was high time to break it.

“Look, I know Keith can be hard to warm up to but he’s not a bad guy. And I kind of want to try and start over again, not just because of Voltron but because after I left I kind of realized I was being an idiot.”

Lotor gives him a sharp look that startles him in its intensity.

“If he is such a good person why did he tell you that you were unfit to be a Paladin?”

The reminder of their fall-out is unwelcomed and Lance feels himself bristle, not liking Lotor speaking out loud what his own mind had been turning over again and again even when he wants nothing more than forget about it.

“I asked for it.”

“That is no excuse, don’t you think?”

Lance groans, burying his face in his hands. He takes a few steps back and when he feels the cold metal of the wall, he allows himself to slide down, eyes still hidden. He does not want to have this talk but it seems like he can no longer escape it.

He has been putting it off for too long anyway.

“Look,” he starts, voice already holding a good amount of bite to it, “it was the shittiest thing he could have said at the time.”

“He could and did.”

“It doesn’t matter!”

The frustration behind the shout is tangible, taking them both by surprise. Lotor stares at him unsure and Lance sighs again, letting his head thump back against the unforgiving, cold metal.

“It doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. I don’t want it to matter anymore. I just want to leave it behind me. I just want to be friends with Keith, don’t you get that?”

The darkness behind his eyelids is soothing. Keeping his eyes closed also allows him to keep the sudden moisture at bay.

He had never admitted to it out loud before; but Lotor has the uncanny ability to get even his most guarded secrets out of him.  
Does he still want to compete with Keith at every turn? Of course. It may have started as a stubborn act of his to prove he was worth more than his teammate but now, Lance can be honest about his own desire to compete with Keith: because it’s fun and engaging, because it was something he has done with his brothers and sisters to varying degrees. Because that simply is how he and Keith naturally clicked.

“I just want things to be alright and that gets really difficult when you keep aggravating one of my leaders and friends at every chance you get.”

He allows himself to look directly at Lotor’s face, indifferent at the prospect of showing the latter his weakness. Lotor has picked up his pieces too many times for Lance to be self-conscious about it anymore.

“I need and want to forgive Keith. Please, don’t ruin this for me.”

He is confused by the minute shaking of the man’s head, dismayed at the thought that he may be refusing him.

“You are incredible.”

He stares at Lotor questioningly. There is a dry smile on his lips, a glint in his eyes that speaks of something painful but he does not elaborate.

They end up staying in that lone corridor a while longer, quiet and thoughtful.

Lance feels a great wave of relief wash over him when, the next day, Lotor offers his hand to Keith and the latter shakes it with a firm grip despite the obvious wariness on his face.

-

Hunk, him and Lotor are sitting in the mechanic’s workshop, playing a made-up card game with a deck they found in one of the storage rooms. The rules keep changing at every turn but that kind of is the appeal of it as they try to figure out whether they _really_ did agree to play this way or that way.

Some of the small arguments and spats leave them in stitches and underneath Yellow’s watchful gaze and soothing aura it just feels incredible to relax and forget for a minute about the mission that is supposed to go down in two quintants: a mission that has all of the Castle inhabitants nervous and taught.

Lance is still surprised Hunk let himself be sweet-talked into a round of… damn now he even forgot what the name of the game is.

There is a quiet lull this round, all of them dragged down by exhaustion from the last few days of preparation that had them hopping from one planet to the next to gather all of the info and materials necessary.

Even Lotor seems to be lacking energy and Lance does not envy him: Coran can be a slave-driver at times but that comes with the many jobs he has to take over. So it’s no wonder that he will take any helping hand he can get.

And Lotor, the only other person who is not a Paladin in need of training, is the obvious choice. But Lance will admit that he is glad that Coran looks a lot less stressed with another person being able to help him at the drop of a hat.

“Laaaaance.”

He blinks slowly, looking up at Hunk and Lotor watching him.

“If you are about to play that strange squiggly snake five then please hurry up.”

He sits up suddenly, alert, gaping at his friends and slapping his free hand on his knee.

“How the hell do you know what cards I have!”

Twin smirks adorn their faces, their eyes twinkling and Lance can feel some of their mirth already infecting him.

Then the both of them burst into laughter, doubling over and gasping for breath, Hunk even pounding the ground with a fist.

“Dude, look at your hand.”

And Lance does just that. The back of the cards, some psychedelic mess of an image, greets him.

“…oh, quiznak…”

It goes without saying that neither Hunk nor Lotor ever miss a chance to get him flustered about it. Honestly, it’s good blackmail material.

-

Lance feels like he’s going burst a vein at this point.

“What the hell are you doing here!”

Trying to scream over the gunfire while still aiming at the moving target is taxing but the drone goes down anyway. Lotor, dressed in a spare Altean armor with a darkened visor, gives him a thumbs-up as he goes to join the fray armed with a sword Lance has never seen before. Probably nabbed from the armory which Lance even doesn’t know where it’s located on the Castleship.

“I was bored.”

Lance scoffs into his mic. Two shots. Two more bots out of commission.

“That’s some great reason. Hey, I got nothing better to do so let’s jump into a battle with deadly laser fire!”

“Exactly!”

There is some sort of enthusiasm in that response that Lance has no idea how to respond to. He misses his chance to when Keith joins in on the comm.

“What are you doing here!”

Lance catches the blur of white and red as Keith lands close to Lotor, hacking and slashing away at enemies with the same amount of aggressiveness that is palpable in his voice.

When Lotor gives him the same answer he graced Lance with, the Blue Paladin is sure he actually _hears_ Keith burst a blood vessel in sheer annoyance.

Lance sees him half a drone whose head he has to shoot because it still is trying to make the Red Paladin trip.

“This isn’t a game!”

Lotor’s sword comes down on the head of one of the metal soldiers, effectively halving it and rendering it a useless pile of junk.

“As I am aware of.”

From where Lance is squatting behind a rock, he shoots just as much as he watches the deadly dance Keith and Lotor have engaged in; notes the difference in their styles even with his pretty limited knowledge on blades and how to fight with them.

Keith is sharp and quick, economic and minimalistic in his movements. Lotor is flashier, doing maneuvers Lance is not sure whether they’re there for aesthetical purpose rather than effectiveness but he is not behind Keith in body count. Lance even wonders how they can keep their footing with all the loose parts and metal carcasses littering the ground beneath their feet.

The canyon they are fighting in has many different ledges and even sort of levels and when Lance catches sight of a group of drones higher up, trying to dislodge a sizeable boulder he feels dread spike in his gut.

In the split second he has he decides that trying to shoot the drones will not stop the rock from falling and screaming will not be any good - in the worst case Keith and Lotor might even pause. And then be squashed to bloody pulps.

Three shots close to Keith’s left foot.

As expected, it makes him jump to the right and push away Lotor in the process, both of them stumbling as they try to remain standing.

When Keith turns around, his expression thunderous and mouth opened wide to let out a few choice words, the impact of the boulder, landing right where he was standing mere seconds ago, shakes the ground up so hard that he actually does land on his behind. Lotor only just manages to stay upright.

Through the comm, Lance can hear Keith’s ragged breath while he sees his shocked expression even from this distance away. Keith’s head turns slightly to stare back at him, gulping before suddenly seeming to remember that they are still in the middle of a battle, taking the hand quickly offered to him by Lotor.

“Thanks Lance.”

The words come out breathless but sincere.

-

The mission was a success. The fact that Lotor actually came in as unplanned back-up might have contributed to that but Lance does not want to annoy Keith while the latter is steering Red back towards the Castle. No, he’ll save it for the debriefing where he and Lotor can double team.

It’s quiet in the cockpit and Lance just takes in the differences. He realizes he’s never actually been inside the Lion that makes up the right arm of Voltron, only ever in Green. There is something soothing about the air inside the Lion despite the undercurrent energy he can feel buzzing all over his skin.

When he speaks up, Keith is almost too soft for Lance to hear but as he goes on his voice grows more confident and steadier.

“I wanted to tell you… you _are_ a good shot. Excellent even.”

Lance blinks but for once decides not to interrupt Keith. So he really was going to do this now, huh?

The black haired teen’s eyes do not leave Red’s panel but the way his fingers fiddle with the control sticks, clenching and unclenching, is testament to his nervousness. Honestly, adding to it by making some sort of joke would be nothing short of cruel. The thought makes a small smile settle on Lance’s lips.

Keith gulps audibly and Lance decides to ease up on him, putting his hand on his friend’s shoulder reassuringly. After a short moment in which he stiffened, Keith gives a heavy sigh.

“I’m sorry for the things I said back then. I really am.” Lance does not doubt it, not in the slightest. Not when Keith sounds like he is actually in pain. “When you left, I actually, I…”

He falters and Lance does lean forward a little just to make sure he’s alright. What he can see is Keith biting on his bottom lip, frustration clear in the way his brow furrows. But it’s not frustration at Lance.

It’s when Lance opens his mouth that Keith seems to have found the right words.

“I felt terrible. Because pretty much everything I said that day was wrong.”

With that he turns his head to look up at Lance and if he didn’t know any better he would say Keith is on the verge of tears.

“You’ve been trying hard, probably harder than any of us and you stayed even though by that point it was the last thing you wanted to do.”

Lance wants to argue about the last part not being true but falters, not only because of Keith’s meaningful look but also because in a sense Keith is right: during the days preceding their argument, Lance more often than not had been daydreaming about being back at Varadero Beach, about leaving this war behind him, and to some extent even the people involved in it.

Keith seems to be waiting for him to say something and Lance just shakes his head slightly.

The red-white helmet bobs with a curt nod.

“I also miss my family, although in a more distant way I guess. But most of all, I just miss Shiro.”

Lance gives his shoulder another squeeze, although he isn’t sure it can be felt through the armor.

“We all miss him. We will find him, for sure.”

Keith’s lips press into a very thin line. Fighting his emotions is obviously just as hard as the battle they just emerged victorious from. Or maybe it’s the exhaustion and stress adding to it that make all of Keith’s feelings spill out.

Still, Lance is fascinated and somewhat horrified when a few solitary drops actually drip onto Keith’s chest plate, the Red Paladin swiftly rubbing at his nose with the back of his hand, sniffing loudly.

If it weren’t such a touching moment Lance would be dying to tease him just a little.

Keith inhales harshly one more time before he looks back up, his eyes the most expressive Lance has ever seen them when he is concerned and it takes his breath away.

“I’m glad you’re on this team. I’m glad you came back. The months without you… it really wasn’t the same on the ship anymore. I’m sorry we never appreciated that enough.”

The sincerity in his voice has Lance sucking in his own lips, has him blinking rapidly. He had not expected it to still hurt this much after all these months. To hurt so much while Keith was trying to make amends.

He nods briefly to encourage Keith to get off his chest whatever he needs to. He also does not like the obvious doubt and nervousness creasing Keith’s brow.

Lance’s hand moves along with Keith’s shoulder as the latter takes another deep breath before releasing it silently.

“I’m sorry for having hurt you and I hope that you can forgive me.”

He did not see the knock against his helmet coming, giving a small cry before turning on Lance with a sullen expression which just makes Lance laugh so hard he squeezes his eyes shut, the moisture that had been threatening to overflow now streaming down the side of his face in thin rivulets.

Wiping them away he just smiles at Keith.

“Good thing I already did then.”

He is very, very sure he will never ever see Keith both this grateful and relieved ever again. But he’s also sure he will never be able to deny remembering it.

Not even if Keith asks him whether he remembers or not.

-

Sneaking Lotor inside Blue takes time and finesse.

In his absence, the Lions have been unanimously dubbed off limits for visitors unless there’s an emergency or an extraction. Not that Lance is going to let something as simple as a lack of permission stop him from introducing two of his best buds to each other.

“She is a beauty.”

Lance laughs at the appreciative and awed tone. Blue is purring smugly, very much liking that she is being recognized for one of her greatest qualities.

“She agrees.” He turns his head so that he can look up at Lotor who chose to lean over the head rest of the pilot chair. His golden eyes are roaming over the consoles, taking in the cockpit as though it were a cave filled with treasures.

Lance switches on the comm, without visuals, and cheerily informs Coran that he’s going to take Blue out for a ride.

“But today there was no training planned?” The man sounds flummoxed, unsure how to seamlessly marry this new development with what he has come to expect of Lance.

“She wants to stretch her legs and who am I to refuse her?”

He is grinning at Lotor and his friend’s smirk turns mischievous.

There is a hum, a little tinny. “Have you perhaps seen Lotor? I was hoping to clean the Castle’s inner systems today.”

Lance barely manages to turn his laugh into a cough he chokes on as he watches Lotor’s face growing two shades paler, an expression of pure horror and disgust making him look absolutely ridiculous.

“Sorry, ‘m not sure but”, he has to gasp for breath, fighting oh so hard not to outright guffaw, “I think he might be in the library.”

There is a long stretch of silence and Lance feels like he’s being x-rayed even through countless steel walls and many, many floors.

Finally there is a suffering sigh, so much like his dad’s that it catches Lance off guard – a very special kind of exasperation filled with fondness and understanding.

“Very well, I’ll be awaiting the both of you later. Have fun while it lasts!”

The comm closes with Lance and Lotor gaping at the flipping switch and blinking light on the console going out. In the back of his mind, there is something like deep-bellied laughter coming from Blue as she takes off before Lance can abort.

-

They are all watching as Allura and Lotor are literally charming the pants off their new allies. It is a fascinating display of coquettish smiles and calculated reservation, of side glances and graceful movements.

It’s a back and forth, ebb and flow, and it becomes clear as night and day that the two of them are in their element and slaying the competition.

Hunk gives a low whistle beside him as the small circle that has gathered around the duo breaks out into peals of laughter with Allura and Lotor remaining regal and elegant.

“These two are deadly.” Pidge observes. She had been very unhappy that she could not escape this nuisance of a Paladin duty but no one on the team could deny that she had really outdone herself. As much as pants would have perfectly suited her needs, she seems happy with the dress she’s chosen for this occasion – and the team had not missed a chance to let her know that.

The music that has been flowing over their heads gains a more upbeat tune and Lance is hit by the sudden urge to actually do what he’s been dying to do for a while now.

He downs the last of his drink, before depositing the cup on a table next to him, uncaring whether it is proper etiquette and extending his hand to his smaller teammate in invitation.

“How about a dance?”

Pidge eyes his smile and hand with a good amount of suspicion, eyebrow raised but it does not discourage Lance in the slightest. He even sticks his hand out some more, his shoulder somewhat protesting. Their last mission had only ended yesterday.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. Promise!”

After a moment, she acquiesces with a tiny eye-roll that is fond and accompanied by a lopsided smirk.

Although it started out as a hilarious try at teaching her the basic steps to Disco Fox, it soon devolves into a dance-off that is too ridiculous and peculiar for anyone to take seriously. The moment Hunk and even Keith join in (at the tall boy’s insistence), Lance can feel the laugh bubbling up in his chest.

And when he catches Allura’s smile, hidden behind a hand shielding her eyes in what he thinks resembles embarrassment, he can actually see Lotor and Coran just watch them with unbridled amusement.

So sure, being a Paladin is hard but these moments, occurring now more and more frequently, actually make it bearable. Maybe even enjoyable.

-

Everything comes crashing down when the Blade of Mamora contacts them. Kolivan tells them it is urgent and that he has sensitive information to share that he cannot send.

They agree to meet up, Allura firing up the Teludav as they wait on the bridge. He is somewhat concerned by how quiet and tense Lotor has become.

He takes his place next to his friend, eyes still on the princess as they watch a wormhole appear.

“I know that they’re Galra but the Mamorites are pretty chill.”

There is something strained in Lotor’s smile, something so brittle that Lance is starting to get very worried even as his friend offers a quiet “Sure”.

They wait as a small vessel pops out of the blue and black whirl, as the Castle’s system alerts them that the hangar doors have opened and that a single individual is making their way up to where he, Lotor, Allura, Coran and Hunk are waiting – Keith and Pidge having yet to come back from their respective preferred places of dwelling.

Lance is surprised when he briefly feels the brush of Lotor’s hand against his before it is quickly withdrawn.

The doors open just as Lance glances at Lotor and is met with raw panic under a heavy air of acceptance.

It’s the only reason he does not register Kolivan actually entering and greeting them, does not see the moment those yellow eyes do one sweep of the room and fall onto them, is completely unprepared for when he is roughly shoved aside as Lotor is held up by a furry, purple hand while a blade hovers just above his jugular.

Hunk is at his side to catch him before he can hit his head on any of the steps, consoles and edges, righting him and shouting at Kolivan.

“What’s the big idea!”

Allura seems just as outraged: “What is the meaning of this?”

Kolivan gives a snarl, his whole face contorted in fury, making them jerk back. Lance feels something heavy settle in his stomach when he notices that Lotor has not moved, seems to be barely breathing and the fact that his white strands are making it impossible to see what kind of expression he’s wearing.

The feeling becomes even worse as he catches a glimpse of Coran. There is no surprise, nothing in his posture indicating that he will spring into action as he so often does when one of them is in danger. Instead, he mirrors the same heavy air of acceptance as Lotor did just before Kolvan attacked.

And Lance knows there is something going on, something very important. Something he would probably be better off not knowing.

It’s Kolivan’s voice, dripping with venom and deadly iciness that has Lance looking back at the Galra. He is staring at Allura, eyes ablaze and his hold on his hostage and weapon unwavering. Never, has Lance witnessed the leader of the Blade with such a lethal aura enveloping him.

“What in the name of the ancients, is _he_ doing here?”

Whatever emotions are coursing through him almost choke the man, his voice pressed and low.

It is in that moment that their missing members stumble into the room, halting as they catch sight of the scene unfolding before them.

Before anyone has a chance to ask further questions, Kolivan speaks and when he does Lance somehow feels a numbness creep into his limbs that has Hunk needing to support him with a hand around his arm.

“What is the _son_ of Zarkon doing on your vessel?”

And as he says it, the man in question lifts his head.

There is nothing about that face Lance recognizes.

-

They lock Lotor in a rather spacious cell, nothing like those pods to extract information and memories but that might only be a question of time.

Lance is as numb throughout the whole process as Lotor is silent, the man keeping his shoulders squared and head held high but no sound escaping him as he is cuffed and locked away.

Right now, the team is back on the bridge and Lance only vaguely registers the tension, the shouting match that is taking place between Allura and Kolivan.

“How could you have been so careless?”

Kolivan sounds every bit as incredulous as he appears to be livid, although now that the threat is no longer the room with them he seems a great deal calmer.

But if the princess is anything, then it’s a damn good diplomat.

“It was impossible to know.” She argues and before Kolivan can interject she goes on, drawing closer with fire in her eyes. The difference in height does not undermine any of her authority. “If you had been up front with _your_ intel we might have prevented this situation in the first place.”

The rebel leader is assessing, staring at Allura with an intensity that is uncomfortable to watch.

Finally, he grunts nodding as he retreats a step, Allura following his example.

“Fair enough.” He says. “But our security could have been compromised. Who knows what kind of information he passed on to Central Command.”

Someone clearing their throat has all of them turning to Coran. It occurs to Lance that he has been acting strange the whole time but the more urgent matter of locking away Lotor had overshadowed that detail.

“Put your minds at ease. I assure you that it is the only thing we will definitively not have to worry about.”

“What do you mean, Coran?” It’s quiet and slow, but the words carry more doubt than Lance has ever heard coming from the princess when it concerns to her advisor.

They are all stunned as Coran bows deeply, one of his hands resting where one would expect his heart to be. With the way he has angled his head, it is impossible to properly see his face.

“Forgive me, your highness.” There is a short pause after which Coran heaves a sigh, righting himself to stand tall once again. His eyes are filled with resolve. Yet, underneath it, there is a hint of shame.

“I had my suspicions.” He begins, turning slightly so that one of his gloved hands can reach over to the console, typing in a few digits before a window pops up with charts and numbers and Altean script. “So I took the liberty to monitor him and to procure a sample of our guest’s DNA in order to run it through our scanners.”

It says nothing to the Paladins, not even Pidge, but the gasp coming from Allura once she’s absorbed the first bits of information makes all of them turn to her.

Her irises are minuscule: “Impossible.”

It’s the moment Keith decides he has had enough.

“What is it?” He is angry and scared. Lance can now tell when months ago it would have been impossible for him.

“Not only is our guest indeed the son of our enemy but he also appears to share Altean genes.”

“How could that even be possible? If that were the case then there would have to be Alteans still alive or he’d be just as old as Zarkon.”

Hunk eyes the charts and Lance spots the way his eyes dart from one to the next, trying to find the connections, trying to decipher what he obviously can’t for as long as Coran refuses to run the whole patch through their translation program – which he finally does at Pidge’s and Keith’s insistence.

It still remains a mystery to him, none of the numbers and words making much sense to him. He wonders if he’s the only one having this much trouble.

“Why doesn’t any of this tell us how old he is?” Pidge finally asks, her tone unsatisfied at the obvious lack of data.

“There could be variety of reasons for that but I assume it has to do with his heritage and the Altean ability to shapeshift. It might also be a genetic modification.” Coran pauses, looking at Kolivan. “Do you have any suggestions perhaps?”

The Galra shakes his head. “Not concerning these matters.”

“But?”

“The reason I wished to meet you was indeed Prince Lotor’s reappearance.”

The royal advisor gives Kolivan space as he strides over to the console depositing a flash drive-like object on the monitoring desk.

Instantly, there a dozens of images of different alien species popping up, some documents in Galra script and Lance wonders what those have to do with Lotor.

By the end of their discussion he does: Lotor is at least old enough for Kolivan’s predecessor’s to have known about him. Lotor is a shapeshifter much like Allura and Coran, although his proficiency at magic makes it almost impossible to distinguish him from the race he is posing as. He is the son of Zarkon, although it is unclear whether he was genetically manufactured or birthed or who the donor of the other half of his genetic makeup is.

“We had little to go by.” Kolivan admits as he closes a report from which he had read out parts to them. A report detailing how Lotor had been sighted a few months ago before disappearing.

Every single one of his friends and teammates is grim faced, eyes hard and distant. The betrayal hit them hard. Lance is somewhat envious that they are still capable of feeling anything while he wonders if something inside him broke because he cannot even muster to be properly ashamed, even less upset.

There’s one detail though that has been troubling him all throughout Kolivan’s explanations and cross-referencing.

“How did you know it was him?”

The attention is on him in an instant, as though he had shouted and not merely whispered the words. His team has been rather impassive towards him, something Lance takes as a bonus considering he is the reason they had invited the enemy aboard their ship. But they do not shush or interrupt him. Maybe he is onto something.

Kolivan regards him, seizes him up and Lance feels strangely reminded of Iverson, although the rebel leader lacks the Garrison instructor’s level of meanness.

Without looking away from him, he puts in a series of digits and an image pops up. It’s blurry, as though the person who took the photo had had to do it in haste or had been jostled. It’s impossible to tell. But Lance recognizes the attire and the figure, as well as the surroundings.

“This is the last image we were able to take of prince Lotor before our member lost sight of him.”

The words tumble out of Lance’s mouth unbidden

“That’s from Vitar’s moon.”

The ensuing silence is deafening, oppressing even. Lance can’t, for the life of him, figure out why he had to blurt that out but he has little control over his body he begins to realize, feeling more like he is watching as a mere bystander.

“That is… correct.” Kolivan’s words are measured and slow. “How did _you_ know?”

They have yet to tell him how Lotor even ended up on their ship but Lance’s mouth is running itself, voice monotone and he is starting to feel something again, although it is distant and muted panic.

He couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to and none of the others seem to know how to intervene or do not wish to.

“I met him there.”

It’s no news to the team, Lotor and him having told them about how they met. Lance just had never gone into detail about it.

They are watching him, just as Kolivan is doing right now, obvious interest no one bothers to disguise.

“Did you meet him while you were running from Voltron?”

Lance feels small under those unflinching yellow eyes, under the undeniably judging gaze he’s subjected to. The Blade of Marmora are particular about honor and duty, just like Alteans.

“Yes.”

“And you willingly allowed a stranger to accompany you, knowing next to nothing about them.”

It’s less of a question and more of a matter of fact statement. There is nothing about it Lance can deny.

This time, even his voice fails him, having him resort to silently nodding without looking up again.

He can hear Kolivan give a huff but is unprepared for the calm in the rebel’s voice: “I cannot say that it is a surprise, you are younglings all things considered. And far too trusting. And leaders far older and more experienced than you have been tricked by him in the past.”

The dizziness stemming from the sudden, unexpected relief flooding him is almost overwhelming. Before Lance can completely gather his wits, Kolivan adds: “Nevertheless, it was careless. I would have expected more caution in choosing your allies. You all are aware of what is at risk.”

The rebuke obviously offends Coran. It is no wonder. After all, he has taken all precautions imaginable as far as Lance understood.

And now that he really takes a long, hardlook at the man, he can spot the bags under his eyes and the added wrinkles on his forehead.

He wonders how he ever came to the conclusion that the man had been less stressed out with Lotor on board.

He really is an idiot.

-

Lance visits him in the middle of the night.

He knows it will not remain a secret but he does not intend it to be. He needs to go, needs to get his head straight and that will only be possible if he can get Lotor to tell him what he needs to know.

If he is willing to talk that is.

Even after three days, two of which Coran, Kolivan as well as Allura had spent in a common effort to get the half-Galra to speak, Lotor has remained as silent as a grave. So far, he had not even reacted to their presence even less their questions or their threats.

Lance is confident though, that if anyone can get Lotor to speak, it’s him.

He’s glad the ‘brig’ is not chilly like a dungeon but he still draws his jacket tighter around himself as he approaches the barrier behind which Lotor is sitting on a small bench, face turned away from him.

He does not stir, even though he probably heard the rustle of Lance’s clothes.

Sitting cross-legged, Lance takes in this stranger.

After having been found out, whatever shapeshifting abilities Lotor had been using up until that point fell away. Or he just decided that the charade was not worth upholding.

He looked nothing like the almost human person Lance had stumbled into. Instead of a pipsqueak there is now a man that exceeded Lance in height by a head. Instead of unmarked cheeks there are now red streaks flowing down the length of his face. Instead of short-trimmed nails there are claws. Instead of a mouth with lips, there is a sort of hard plating not unlike Zarkon’s, with the corners not quite meeting, thus exposing pinkish muscle and sinew. Instead of golden pupils, there are eyes of a solid yellow. Instead of small ears there are ones even pointier than the Alteans’. **(1)**

The biggest change had to be his skin though – a vibrant purple covering the prince from head to toe.

It’s one of the only changes he can see right now, as Lotor taps his index finger on his bicep, one of his legs drawn up to use as a rest for his crossed arms.

The silence stretches and Lance has no clue how to begin, _where_ to begin even.

“I did not expect you.”

He blinks up at Lotor but the man still refuses to turn around. His finger remains on his arm.

“Me neither.” Lance admits quietly.

There is the glow of one eye as Lotor glances at him from over his shoulder and the thick curtain of white hair before deturning his gaze.

“Did they send you?”

“No.”

That makes the man turn around finally and Lance is not prepared for the tired eyes staring back at him.

“Is there something you wanted?”

It’s strange to realize just how willingly Lotor lets his guard down around him but Lance can feel the content he has come to associate with being close to his friend slowly being replaced by trepidation.

And he realizes, much to his chagrin, that whatever he is to Lotor, it is probably not a friend.

That is why he is here. He wants to know where they stand. Needs to know it so he can finally sleep again at night without tossing and turning. Without having to replay each and every memory of the time they have spent together thus far only to wonder how much of it was real, how much of it was sincere.

Whether he was just something to be picked up and used until it had lost all of its usefulness.

He wants peace of mind, even if it means that he will be losing the one person he has trusted with his most fragile self and his ugliest secrets.

“You’ve had this planned from the very start, didn’t you?”

The words come out more bitter than he had planned, making him take a deep breath to calm down the sudden anger that is making itself at home in his chest, fiery and hot, burning away almost all other emotion that cannot withstand its smoldering heat.

Lotor’s face is impassive and it spurs on his anger, the resentment Lance has almost no control over.

“It wasn’t a chance meeting back in that mall, was it?”

Through the blinding fire storm inside of him he still can clearly see the sadness in Lotor’s eyes.

“No, it wasn’t.”

Lance is up on his feet and pacing before he is even aware of doing it. Knuckles painfully pressing into his mouth as he lets those words sink in, lets the betrayal settle in his heart and lungs, making it hard to breathe.

He turns his back on Lotor, feeling sick and scared and so many other emotions he cannot put a name to. But through it all, hurt is the one he can identify most clearly and prominently.

“I’m sorry. I understand how you must feel.”

It was the worst way Lotor could have chosen to word it.

Instantly, Lance is back in front of the barrier, directly in front of Lotor’s face, glaring at him with little scruple to unleash all of his fury upon him.

“The hell you do!”

He screams, throwing himself at the translucent barrier separating them, pounding it with his fists and feeling energy running over his skin, pricking and stinging.

“I want to hate you! And God, do I wish I could! I wish I could hate you! But I can’t and it makes me angry!”

He lets his head hang in the space between the barrier and both his arms, the outline of his sneakers blurring as tears spring to his eyes, the fire having burnt up the metaphorical fuel already.

“I don’t know _what_ I’m supposed to feel.”

He is such an idiot. Too naïve. Too trusting. Too desperate.

“You’re my friend.” he heaves, droplets running down his cheeks and nose, sniffling like a damn child. It only manages to make him grow irritated at himself for being so damn weak “You’re my friend and yet you… you only used me. You probably only put up with me for so long just so you could get close to Voltron!”

Movement behind the barrier has him looking up.

Whatever he wants to say gets stuck in his throat as he sees the expression on the half-Galra’s face.

“You still think of me as your friend?”

The words are spoken so softly Lance almost believes he imagines them but the hope dimly shining in those pupil-less eyes is staggering. It’s the look of another man desperate for connection and afraid of rejection.

It’s a reflection of feelings Lance is all too acquainted with. It shows him again just how much they share, how alike they are.

“I do.”

He admits to it with little regret, without as much shame as he should probably feel.

Lotor lets out one single hitching breath before a hand goes to cover half of his face, shielding his eyes from the world it to witness, curling in on himself and away from Lance.

The Cuban has never seen him this emotional, this out of control even if it is not messy or loud. Still, it strikes something inside Lance, stirs protective instincts and feelings he has to suppress so hard.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, letting his arms fall to his sides listlessly, thoughts sluggish after his outburst. It’s Lotor’s quiet voice that startles him out of the numbness he’s fallen into again.

“The idea had been to win the favor of the Paladin who had left Voltron and find out as much as possible about our enemies through him.”

Lotor’s voice is flat and empty as he confirms Lance’s greatest fears, the prince unable to meet his eyes. Before Lance can decide to leave, leave and never look back as he goes up the stairs, Lotor continues. Emotions bleed into his words, many Lance can put a name to and others he would not have guessed were there in the first place.

Most of all, it is regret and sorrow choking Lotor.

“I had a plan, a plan that could win us this war and I had every intention of winning your trust. Every intention of finding out as much as possible about the greatest threat to the Galra Empire.”

He took a shaky breath before raising his head and Lance was met with the most despairing expression he had seen on anyone.

“What I didn’t expect was to like your company. For you to make me feel like I unquestionably belonged after such a long time.”

He is shaking so badly Lance is almost afraid he’s going to collapse from the strain but Lotor perseveres and Lance feels obligated to listen to every single word. He is also sure he could not turn away even if he wanted to.

“I am so confused. I don’t know what _I_ am supposed to believe anymore. All my life, I was told that the Galra Empire was the ultimate goal to reach equality and unison in the universe. I believed it to the very core of my being and I ignored all the signs telling me I was living a lie. It was what I had been bred for. It was the sole purpose of my being.”

In a parody of Lance’s earlier outburst, Lotor simply lets himself lean against the barrier, palms flat on the surface and forehead touching it, seemingly uncaring of the electricity and energy having to irritate his skin but he goes on.

“I wanted to live up to the expectations I felt I never could fulfill. And then…” his breath gets caught in his throat. Even through the ripples running over the surface of the barrier, Lance can see the ghost of a smile of Lotor’s face.

“And then, I met you: you with your welcoming smiles and silly banter and terrible, terrible flirting.”

He has no idea how he can even find it in himself to laugh, but Lance does, because of course Lotor would drag him for his bad flirting habits.

The fondness shows not just on his face.

“You introduced me to your team… to these incredible individuals, a bunch of children really, standing up to a force as intimidating and powerful as the Galra and I realized, the longer I stayed the less certain I became about the justness of our cause.”

“Seeing those you’d freed and watching you fight to liberate those still under our control… seeing these people once you drove our forces away… I…”

He heaves a breath that rattles his whole frame but there is a fire burning in his eyes and Lance can feel a spark of that same conviction infecting him despite wanting to fight it.

“I want to be part of this too.”

Lance is sure if his jaw wasn’t securely attached to his face through muscle, skin and sinew it would have dropped to the floor.

It is testament to Lotor’s sincerity that he does not let himself get distracted by his ridiculous expression.

“I want to help you. I want to help you stop this madness that keeps spreading throughout our universe. I want to help you build a universe that is united but _free_.”

-

“No.”

Allura says it with such finality that under any other circumstances Lance might have wilted; might have retreated and licked his wounds in private.

But he couldn’t afford it and he would not stop either until he got Lotor out of that cell or…

“Then just throw me in there, if we’re at it already!”

Allura has always had an imposing aura but Lance gets the distinct feeling that the reason she appears so big right now is because she unconsciously used her shapeshifting powers.

It seems to have affected her voice too.

“If that is what you want then I will _gladly_ put you in there myself!”

They’ve been shouting at each other for the past thirty minutes and already, his throat is sore and the princess’ voice just a tad more hoarse than usual. Yet, Lance has achieved nothing but antagonize his commander further.

He had known the chances of getting her to agree were practically non-existent, seeing as Allura avoided him at all cost just as she had done with Keith after revealing his heritage, but it hurt that he had had to pester her and chase her down after training all the way to the bridge where she could no longer escape him.

He understands her fury, understands her fears and the pressure she suffers from silently but he can’t bring himself to give up.

And he is angry as well: because he was the one who got tricked initially, because he’d been lied to but also because somehow over the last few days it has become routine for everyone to make him feel especially underserving of their support even if they don’t mean to. But the cautious stares and the ground teeth and not quite hidden stares eat away at his patience quickly.

He uses the anger stemming from these small actions as fuel. It’s the only thing he’s got left.

“Fine!”

Wanting to make a show, he lets his Bayard materialize in his hand so he can toss it at her. So that she can lock up her unarmed Paladin.

The moment the blue light assumes its shape, Lance realizes that that was a terrible mistake. Allura’s eyes go wide with shock and betrayal before her mouth turns into a ferocious sneer.

He gasps helplessly as her foot painfully connects with his sternum, throwing him several feet back and onto the ground where he lays struggling to draw breath. His Bayard slipped from his grip but retrieving it becomes the least of his problems when Allura is upon him, pinning him down with her whole weight and effectively immobilizing him.

He groans as her forearm digs into his throat, applying pressure to his Adam’s apple, crushing his airways, something shifting and grinding and now he is panicking, hands trying to get a steady grip on her but Allura is relentless as she applies _even more_ pressure, and now he’s shaking from terror and pain because she will obliterate his windpipe if he doesn’t do something quick!

His lungs start to burn, mouth helplessly opening and closing in a hopeless attempt at getting much needed oxygen.

All that comes out is a croak: high-pitched, garbled and utterly terrified.

His vision starts tunneling as his hands go slack. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

For a second, Lance wonders if this is how he’s going to die.

And through the growing darkness he still sees Allura’s expression: cold and hard on the outside but in her blue irises Lance recognizes primal terror.

He had scared Allura. His summoning his Bayard on her had terrified her.

He feels horrible. Both because he never wanted to be the cause of one of his teammates’ distress and because he is saddened that she would ever think he would harm her.

And before the darkness can swallow him whole, Lance witnesses as Allura emerges from under the layers of fear, sees in the widening of her eyes the moment she realizes she is choking him to _death_.

Instantly, she gets off of him and it’s all Lance can do to roll onto his side, coughing and gulping lungful’s of air that are both a release and indescribably painful.

He convulses, riding out his fit and stopping only when his body is too spent.

He lies there on the ground hoping he’ll regain his bearings soon.

His hand sneaks up to his throat, trying to assess the damage and drawing it back when the careful groping makes pain flare up. He can only imagine what a horribly bruised mess it is.

Despite Allura having retreated, Lance can feel his airways slowly closing up sagain.

A quiet noise catches his attention. Glancing out of the corner of his eye without moving a muscle he sees Allura’s back.

A hand is covering the bottom part of her face. Even from this angle he can make out the way her shoulders quake as she battles with herself, stifling whatever sound she might otherwise be making.

“ ’lur-a”

He does not sound human, he even has a hard time believing that what is coming out of his mouth are words.

She whips around. It is blatantly obvious that she is horrified at what she’s just done but at his weak call she’s there, kneeling by his side and helping him sit up, supporting his neck with her hand.

Although he knows it’s ill-advised to talk with an injured throat he still cracks a joke.

Or tries to.

“Bonding mo-hent?”, he can barely get the sounds out, even less get them out right but to his surprise Allura does manage a quiver of a smile, rueful and devastated.

“Only you would flirt with a woman who tries to kill you.”

He wants to protest, make reassurances but his throat signals him that it’s a very bad idea. Instead he opts for: “Pod. naw.”

He loses consciousness as Allura rushes him to the med bay.

-

Allura is there waiting for him when he emerges from the pod, wrapping him in a thick blanket and sitting him down on the steps.

His throat feels still abused and tender but Lance is pretty sure it is fully healed. Probably just a matter of taking it easy for the next few days.

What is more important to him though is making sure the princess is alright. As expected, Allura cannot meet his eyes.

Deciding what he wants to ask first is more complicated than he would have imagined. He wants to know whether she is alright, wants to know where everyone else is, why she’s been here all alone.

Most of all though he just wants to apologize.

“I am so sorry.” “I’m sorry!”

They blink at each other, not having expected the other to take the first step. Even in the poor lighting, Lance is able to discern the light pink dusting Allura’s nose, as she blinks at him.

Her lips become a thin line as she leans away, eyes on all and anything but him.

He takes it as his cue to continue.

“I’m sorry for scaring you.”

Allura swivels around, mouth open already to protest but Lance won’t let her.

“I shouldn’t have forgotten that there have already been people that betrayed you.” He looks at her, willing her to understand. “But I had hoped that you knew me well enough to understand I’d never, ever hurt any of you. Especially not over something like this.”

Because as much as Lotor can still be considered his friend, he has forfeited Lance’s unconditional trust and support. And Lance finds it sad that right now he cannot tell if he’ll ever really forgive him for it.

Allura’s hand is around his in a flash, squeezing the living daylights out of it. He feels heat rise in his cheeks but it drains away as he sees tears in her eyes, guilt and shame visible in those bi-colored depths.

His thumb just automatically starts gently caressing her knuckles while he flounders, unsure whether to be so bold as to embrace her or give her space. Allura has yet to look at him again, discreetly sniffling.

“I’m sorry for misjudging you.” There is a tear rolling down her cheek, the smile on her lips painful and self-depreciating. “But that seems to be a common thing with me and my Paladins.”

Lance can feel his heart clench painfully and his mouth is open before he has even properly formulated his thoughts.

“I guess I’d be too if I were you.”

She leans back in shock, looking at him wide-eyed and uncomprehending. But Lance is glad that she has yet to withdraw her hand, squeezing it all the tighter.

“If I had lived the things you did… if I had lost as much as you. I dunno’, I’d also be scared to trust others again.”

Allura lets that statement sink in, sudden thoughts taking her far away and Lance gives her the time she needs, never letting go of her hand even if it grows a little sweaty.

He wonders how far the evening has already progressed, if anyone even noticed what had happened. He wishes more for Allura’s than his sake that no one saw her carrying him to the medbay.

“But you are still willing to trust Lotor?”

It takes him a second to register the question, to remember that he was kind of having a bonding moment here and feels somewhat sheepish for it. But Allura is just waiting for his answer, expression mild.

He thinks it over and heaves a suffering sigh that slightly irritates his throat.

“Not really. I mean-“, he instantly adds when one of Allura’s eyebrows shoots up, “I want to give him the benefit of the doubt. As Coran said - he never tried anything. He never communicated with the Galra, never did anything that could endanger any of our lives. I think that counts for something.”

He tells her about what Lotor revealed to him when he visited him down in that cell, somewhat surprised that she hasn’t seen the video feed already.

She is pensive for a moment, unconsciously bringing her fisted hand to her chin, Lance releasing that very hand with little remorse. Still, he already misses the warmth and comfort that small gesture provided.

He wished he could truly persuade her to agree but after everything that’s happened, Lance has come to the conclusion that he won’t force the issue even if Allura does not decide Lotor’s favor. It was unkind and uncalled for him to pressure her when she wasn’t ready in the first place. He is able to recognize that fact now that his blood is no longer boiling and rushing in his ears.

And after seeing that shadow of her past and her fears, it would just be cruel of him to insist on it.

“I need more time to think this over.”

“Okay.”

He smiles at her, grateful and small. Allura answers with a smile of her own just as she puts her hand around his shoulders and draws him towards her.

Sitting there, leaning onto each other, he’s reminded of his eldest sister and lets his eyes slide shut, simply enjoying the moment.

-

“I feel humiliated.”

Lance sighs.

“Nothing I can do about it unless you want to go back to your cell.”

Lotor stops playing around with the collar, silver and blue, and lets it drop back onto his collar-bone. It looks like some plain but very sleek piece of jewelry and not like the electronic monitor that it is.

He has changed his features once again – still looking very much Galra but less like his father. A male version of Haggar maybe. If Haggar were to take better care of her appearance.

Seconds later, Lotor is biting on the metal with his sharp canines testingly and Lance finds himself throwing him an incredulous look.

Lotor raises an eyebrow. “What?”

Lance is shaking his head, bringing up his hands to massage his throbbing temples.

“This is the most ridiculous reaction I could have ever imagined you having… and yet, you’re actually gnawing on some piece of Altean tech.”

Taking said Altean technology out of his mouth, Lotor gives it a short flick.

“I can at least assure you that it tastes like rare metal.”

Lance can’t hold in the barking laughter that has all of team Voltron staring at them from a few feet down the hall.

He doesn’t care that much about the stares. At least Lotor can take this whole ordeal with humor.

-

Pidge has never sounded this close to panicking and it makes all of the hairs on Lance’s neck stand on end.

They are currently in a Galra base specialized in shipping prisoners to any and all corners of the Empire. They had planned this raid for weeks, the Mamorites having helped them set up the bombs that had distracted the guards long enough for Hunk and Yellow to ram through the heavy hangar doors like the unstoppable force of nature the both of them are.

As soon as there was no enemy or drone standing, they had dispersed, Keith and Kolivan going for the left corridor and Hunk and some other Blades down the right one. Lance and Pidge had infiltrated the control center at the very heart of the structure and their tech genius was to overrule all possible security measures and commands for lock-down.

What Lance had not counted on though, were the guards and drones suddenly swarming towards the room, their shots grazing his armor as he ducked behind a barricade of consoles and tables he had quickly erected the moment the camera had announced the arrival of their unwanted company.

“Pidge!” he roars as a shot hits the side of his helmet, the force of it almost making him lose his footing and fall. He plants his feet in an effort to not lose sight of his opponents, retaliating by fritzing the drone responsible.

The thing topples over and out of sight behind the other attackers waiting for their turn. Dread pools in Lance’s gut. They have to leave, preferably now, before they are overwhelmed and then taken prisoner.

He cannot hear it over the laser fire and the ruckus but he just knows Pidge is tapping away madly somewhere behind him, entranced with the machine that may hold the answer to her sleepless night, the x on the map, the last bit of information she has been so desperately looking for.

He wished he could give her all the time she needs. But it’s hopeless.

That knowledge becomes even more painful when her comm let through the frustrated, anguished sob.

“I’ve got it! Almost. Just one more tick!”

That’s what she’s been saying for the past several minutes.

Just one more tick.

Lance cries out as a flesh-and-blood Galra lands a lucky shot at his bicep but Lance holds onto his rifle all the more tighter for it, continues firing because _thank God_ that it’s only the arm pulling the trigger. The moment he loses focus, the moment he gets distracted, they are done for.

He wished Lotor were here. He wished that his friend was here and could help him.

But Lotor is up at the Castle, under the watchful eyes of Allura and Coran and far away from any possible attempt to communicate with “his” soldiers, far away from sabotaging their mission.

The angry shout suddenly ripping through the silence of the comm makes him start, missing his target by mere centimeters, but the soldier still goes down with a pained cry.

“- do not care!”

It’s Lotor and Lance only has enough time to register that fact and the screaming coming from Allura before the man addresses their Green Paladin directly:

“Pidge, the combination you are looking for has three random digits, a dash and the numbers nine, eight, seven, five!”

Time does not slow down dramatically. Lance still keeps firing, although his arms are starting to burn and the wounds begin to sear and sting. But he knows that whatever that combination was, could be nothing short of explosive.

“How do I know you’re not lying!”

She sounds outraged and Lance knows where she’s coming from. One wrong button pushed and this could be the end. And Lotor, despite everything Lance might want to say about him, does not have the best track-record at being honest.

“What’s going on?”

“Keith, keep out of this please, we are a little busy over here!”

He gets ignored, the Red Paladin asking Allura and Coran for an update.

“Lotor just told Pidge to enter some combination of sorts.”

It’s Coran, sounding as doubtful as can be and it hits Lance that Allura is being strangely quiet.

Lance ducks as two drones take a shot at the same time and through a small opening in his barricade he busts their feet with his own shots.

“It’s not just a combination.” Lotor insists, his voice dark. Lance wonders if he’s ever heard him this serious as he scrambles back up, positioning his Bayard on the upturned table’s edge, “Those are the numbers the empire assigns to its prisoners.”

There is a pause on the comm, a sort of quiet before the storm of emotions that will inevitably throw them off. Everything clicks into place.

“One, one, seven, dash, nine, eight, seven, five.”

“Princess?”

It’s hard not to get distracted by Allura’s almost too quiet to hear recitation or Coran’s obviously concerned tone.

All of them wait, all of them hold their breath even though they actually don’t and suddenly Allura says the one thing none of them would ever have expected:

“Pidge, enter the combination Lotor gave you now, get the information and leave at once!”

There is no room for argument. Not when Allura uses that particular tone of voice.

Lance wonders what kind of expression is on the small Paladin’s face. Is she angry? Is she scared?

Because, even if he does not want to, Lance can feel trepidation settle in his stomach like a thick syrupy substance.

He’s panting harshly now and the enemy is inching its way forward with every tick. Not losing his head to panic becomes as hard of a battle as the one he has been fighting for what feels like hours now.

There is a gasp over the comm and he knows it’s Pidge.

“Pidge, are you alright?”

It would have been better if he hadn’t sounded so afraid but it leaves her unaffected as he hears a mumbled: “I found him.”

There is a watery edge to those words but it is quickly forgotten the next moment, Pidge giving the OK for the third and last phase of their plan – blow this shit up.

“Everybody get out NOW!”

“Pidge, darling, those have to be the best words uttered by anyone ever!”

The usual, playful punch to the shoulder and mock scowl will have to wait until they make it to her Lion.

-

Once they are back on the bridge, Allura is kind enough to explain that the only reason she trusted Lotor on this one, was that she had recognized the series of numbers from when she and Shiro had infiltrated that Galra cruiser.

Hunk makes a sound of understanding: “Ooooh, so that’s what you were mumbling about.”

Allura answers him with a short nod.

Kolivan and a Blade who has yet to reveal their face, deem it now a good time to ask the question Lance knows must have been preoccupying them for some time now. It does not escape Lance how the mystery member has yet to let go of the hilt of his sword, or look away from Lotor who is reclining against the wall close to the door.

“Our mission almost was compromised by your Green Paladin’s actions.” It is clear that it cannot be argued, Kolivan’s frown intimidating and as much as any of them want to jump in for Pidge, the fact remains that their whole schedule and carefully laid out plan had needed to be adjusted for her.

Lance can only admire her as she looks up from her work station, facing Kolivan head on, unflinching of his overall displeased demeanor.

“The Galra took my family almost two years ago and I’ve been trying to find them ever since. And while I was able to find out that my brother has been freed by rebels, there was no trace of my father.”

She has to take a deep breath before continuing but it’s not one of exasperation or nervousness. It’s pure relief.

“Up until now that is.”

And she casts a meaningful look at Lotor, one that is complicated but there is undeniable gratitude. Lotor merely inclines his head.

They are all watching the exchange, Kolivan finally turning to all of them, his expression serious.

“It would have been far less of a risk to inform us about this circumstance, don’t you agree?” And he addresses Allura directly. “The whole operation was put at risk and if it weren’t for the timely intervention” Lance cannot hold back the eye-roll as Kolivan refuses to give Lotor his due credit, earning him a jab from Hunk to the ribs as a warning “it might have ended in failure.”

The air on the bridge grows cold, especially from the Paladins. Keith is quick to stand beside Pidge a hand on her shoulder, either to hold her back or as support, maybe even both.

Kolivan turns back to Pidge, a sternness in his gaze that is surprisingly… paternal.

“The Blade would have been ready to offer their support in finding and extracting a target necessary to Voltron, just as we are doing for your Black Paladin.”

Pidge is speechless for once, mouth gaping wide open and in all fairness, so are Keith Hunk and Lance.

That was kind of the last thing they had expected coming from the man.

“You”, Pidge has to swallow, her voice breaking at the first try “you would be willing to do that?”

“If it will ensure the success of future missions, then yes.”

The princess and Pidge exchange looks, before Allura turns back to Kolivan, eyes bright with determination.

“We are counting on you.”

-

Samuel Holt does not even have time to hobble down the ramp before Pidge throws herself at him, openly crying and wailing as she clutches at her father.

The man is readily returning the hug, somehow not surprised at the fact that his daughter is in space and looking very different from the girl he left behind on Earth.

The smile on his face, soft and small and loving, is like a bullet to the chest as Lance is allowed to witness this touching moment.

Although he is surprised that the man is not dissolving into tears like his daughter, Lance can only guess that he is too spent for any grand show of emotion.

He looks frail and ill, the clothes that the Blade provided him with hanging off his emaciated frame. But at least he is alive and, as far as Lance can tell, in one piece.

He is not prepared for the piercing jealousy though. For the wish that he could have something similar one day. It’s the one hope he is still clinging to, despite having had to renounce to the possibility of it ever truly happening. He cannot let himself hope too much, he tells himself again and again, because if he does it will poison him and his thoughts in the long run.

When Hunk comes up to him and pulls him into a one-sided hug, he whispers his thanks quietly.

“I get man, I really do.”

All he can do at the forlorn tone shaking up Hunk’s words is patting his buddy’s wrist gently while resting his head on his shoulder.

-

When Sam is introduced to Lotor, Lance is afraid that it’s either going to be awkward or frosty at best.

But he understands where Pidge gets her determination from when the man reaches out his hand and shakes the half-Galra’s hand firmly despite the shaking in his fingers – not from fear but from his weakened state.

His face is taut but he is sincere when he thanks Lotor for having helped find him.

Lance is positive he has yet had to see Lotor as abashed as he is at the show of gratitude.

-

Having another _human_ adult on the ship, no matter how badly injured or scarred, somehow puts them more at ease.

Sam is not Shiro, not in the least bit – he has his moments where he is too far gone for even Pidge to get him back, moments when he seizes up at the oddest of things or random words, but just like Shiro he makes an admirable effort to be there for them.

He cannot join the fight but he is willing to contribute and help in any way he can. Lance can only respect this man, smart and compassionate, who never once doubts his place on this spaceship or in this war. A man not shying away from the task of making them feel safe and understood. All of them.

And they are all willing to show him he’s welcome.

And just seeing him regain his strength one day at a time or stumbling upon him in the common rooms, holding his daughter close as she sleeps, brings a kind of hope with it that makes them stronger as they continue opposing the Empire.

-

For the past few days, Lance’s heart has been heavy. It fills him with unease, makes it harder to laugh and come up with quips and jokes.

If anyone noticed they do not mention it, just trying to be there and to not leave him alone for too long. The last time they did that mistake had resulted in their friend leaving. They are not ready to chance it again.

And anyway, they probably think it has to do with their latest mission, which is both correct and yet as far off from the mark as it could possibly get.

He and Lotor are sitting in one of the observation rooms, watching the stars and even a galaxy that looks so close and beautiful that you could almost touch it.

But Lance cannot get his restless mind to just stop and appreciate the beauty of it, to relax. And the reason for that is the person sitting next to him.

“Did you ever use your powers on me?”

He does not look at Lotor, but he catches the glint of yellow in his periphery, feels the shift when Lotor turns to him and their shoulders bump.

Lance has to keep his eyes trained on the glass, the only thing separating them from the void of space.

He does not think he can take looking at Lotor’s expression right now whether surprised, guilty or nothing of the sort. He just can’t.

The half-Galra probably knows where this is coming from.

They had made a new alliance with another planet but the denizens had been impatient and skittish. It was hard to tell whether it was simply their nature or whether the mere presence of something as imposing and strong as Voltron had had them in that state.

And when they all had almost thought that nothing good was going to come out of it, suddenly, it seemed as if the council which also functioned as the leaders of that world seemed to become at ease and dare he say, mellow, under the Altean monarch’s kind and diplomatic gaze.

The council did not seem to suspect anything and before the Paladins knew, they were on their way back to the Castle.

“Did you guys see how those aliens just ate out of Allura’s palm?”

Hunk had been one of the first to notice the shift and once out of earshot from their hosts, had not even tried to hide his interest on the matter from Allura, although he still resorted to this strange round-about way of getting her to answer his question.

The Yellow Lion’s cockpit fell silent as all eyes but Hunk’s fell on the white haired woman who looked somewhat ashamed. It was strange to see her, with her head so often held high, to suddenly avoid their gaze.

And Lance figured it had been unusual for her not to be joyous of their diplomatic endeavor having worked out so splendidly.

They waited and when Allura took a deep breath, she somehow found the courage to look them directly in the eyes.

There was deep conflict in them.

“Alteans are not only good diplomats because of their shapeshifting.” She paused and Lance noticed how she did that thing with her index and thumb, this slightly rotating motion she only did when she was under great amounts of stress. It made unease creep up on him like a preying animal in the dark. “We are attuned to quintessence and its flow. This, in turn, gives us the possibility to manipulate it, although it requires a lot of practice and energy.”

“Wait, isn’t quintessence this thing that makes up everything in the universe?”

Allura nodded to Pidge’s question.

“It is the essence of all things and as all quintessence is nothing but a flow of energy, Alteans who are attuned and sensitive to this flow, can tap into it and… adapt it to certain extents.”

The mere second of hesitation, the tiny twitch at the corner of her mouth drawing her lips into a minute frown was all that Lance suddenly needed to connect the dots.

“You manipulated them.”

Everyone had stared at him, surprised but none of them probably as shocked as Lance himself. The sudden realization that had hit him was more than he had been willing to deal with.

He had tuned out the rest of the conversation but caught onto key words like _emotions_ and _feelings_.

By the time he had exited the hangar to go back to his room, he felt sick to his stomach.

Lotor was half-Altean. Lotor was proficient in magic, which was just another way of saying he could manipulate quintessence. Lotor had approached him with purpose. Lance had not even once felt uneasy in his presence when they first met.

He had to know.

And so he waited now. Waited for Lotor to tell him.

“Yes.”

Lance gulps, takes a deep breath and wipes a hand over his face, leaning back into the cushions of the sofa.

“I see.”

His hand falls away but he leaves his eyes closed. Even when he opens them, he refuses to look at Lotor, simply getting up and ready to leave. He can feel those pupil-less eyes watching him intently but is glad that Lotor knows him well enough to not try and dissuade him, to make excuses.

Before he goes through the opened door, Lance does warn him though: “Never do it again.”

“I never was going to.”

That gives Lance pause, glancing back over his shoulder. The glow of Lotor’s smoldering eyes illuminates his face in the otherwise dim room.

“What do you mean?”

Lotor regards him for a long while, pensive, expression unreadable.

“The last time I used them on you was on Et’va.”

He had not expected that. It was pretty early on in their travels that they had come across the small moon with a gigantic, black ocean and pebble beach. He does not know what to do with that kind of information. But he still realizes the way Lotor had worded it, throwing him a threatening glare.

“That applies to the others as well. Coran might give you trouble once he finds out.”

Lotor makes a face, turning back around but not before grousing that he understood.

“See you at training then.”

That’s as good as Lotor is going to get for now.

-

Things never are easy.

It’s proven to him once again when they meet Shiro and Matt… and when they have to stop the young man from decapitating Lotor.

Pidge is pushing her brother back, her head burrowed into his stomach as he struggles, his face contorted in fury and disbelief.

Shiro is standing there, looking between the pair and Lance who has positioned himself in front of Lotor as a living shield.

“What are you doing!”

It’s incredible how steadfast Pidge remains even when her much taller, older brother puts his weight on her to get her off. Still, she slides a few inches after a particularly hard push.

“Matt,” Shiro interjects, obviously not fully grasping what is going on like most of them but ever the peace maker. God, how Lance had missed that deep, smooth voice. “maybe it’d be nice to tell us what’s going on?”

Pidge’s brother looks close to biting his head off, clearly not understanding how Shiro cannot not be on his side.

He points at Lotor, still partially concealed by Lance.

“This is the man that sold us out! He’s the reason our group was almost annihilated!”

Lance wished he had it in him to be shocked at any more unsavory discoveries about Lotor’s past but he’s long since reached a point where he has come to terms with the knowledge that there were skeletons in Lotor’s closet.

Has come to terms with the fact that the past has its ways of catching up to you no matter what.

-

The only reason, and really the only reason Matt does not again try to clobber the Galra prince to death is the revelation that he helped find Samuel Holt before the scientist could be shipped off to a mining colony where he would most likely have died of metal poisoning.

But meetings with the both of them in the same room are out of the question.

They learn to work around it.

That does not mean it doesn’t sting when Pidge’s brother refuses to shake Lance’s hand or to properly acknowledge him when they are in the same room. Something about Matt not being able to understand how any decent person could ever work together even less _befriend_ the son of Zarkon, the man that had worked for the empire and infiltrated resistance groups so that they could be taken out.

Shiro is wary of Lotor as well, but shows a kind of professionalism and goodwill that is almost disconcerting. Lance’s safest bet is that he is tolerating him for the sake of Voltron. Or maybe, just like with Ulaz, Shiro is more willing to give people the benefit of the doubt.

Whatever the case may be Lance hopes that, through their mental connection, Shiro knows just how much he appreciates his leader’s composed approach to the whole matter.

-

“If you already had a chance to do good” Lance asks as they sit in the armory, doing weapon cleaning they have been assigned this week, as far away as possible from Shiro or Matt, “why didn’t you join the rebels?”

He tries for casual but it’s very hard keeping the edge out of his voice, the unmistakable hardness that Lance has come to expect whenever he is yet again confronted with a part of Lotor he does not know how to handle.

Lotor gives a suffering sigh, looking at him, shoulders slumped.

He seems tired and Lance can admit that he feels that very same tiredness. Yeah, he too wished things were different.

“They weren’t you.”

Lance blinks at him, taking a few ticks to dissect that statement before nodding mutely and continuing his work in silence.

As much as it explains everything, it also doesn’t.

-

Keith is twirling one of the “death traps” between his fingers, inspecting it, the wrapping crinkling.

Lance has been watching him for a while now as have the mice that are sitting on the table, angry that someone other than them has found something so interesting and good smelling. Because, even though Lance wished he could deny it, Lotor’s sweets actually remind him of marshmallows and fudge when it comes to their smell.

But he knows how they burn on his tongue, like limes and chili pepper or as in the case of the candy Keith is unwrapping, like stale oil. Disgusting really and not something he would wish to experience again.

But man, he’d love to see Keith’s reaction.

The door opens and he perks up as he hears Lotor whispering in low tones with Pidge.

Lance is not sure when exactly it happened but their little tech genius has been putting a lot of effort into including the half-Galra into more discussions again. Probably earned up to the fact that she wants to somehow bridge the gap between her brother and the man who helped her find her father.

Lance knows it won’t work but he’s grateful none the less.

Both come to a stop when they see Keith and Lance lounging on the lowered couches, opposite of each other.

Pidge’s face is open and curious as she notices what Keith is fiddling with, instantly drifting over to him to ask what he’s doing while Lance catches the way Lotor’s eyebrows shoot up. So he really had lost the candy without noticing.

“Do you know what it is?”

He turns his head at Pidge’s excited tone and for some reason it strikes him just how long her hair has gotten again as it bounces in her rather short ponytail.

Keith shakes his head, eyes narrowed as he rolls the unwrapped auburn treat between his fingers.

A sudden thought comes to life, one that has Lance grinning at Lotor so much that it stings his cheeks. The moment Lotor seems to catch his drift, the moment his yellow eyes actually mirror Lance’s own mischievous energy, he has a hard time schooling his expression as his friend makes his nonchalant suggestion.

“Oh, these are actually edibles. Sweets from a planet in the Zwir system.”

Lance has to fight hard against the suppressed laughter that is shaking his whole chest cavity as his friends take in that information, Keith’s expression a whole lot less guarded now that he has some context provided. Pidge is practically hanging over his shoulder but unlike what most might expect she is not making grabs for it. It was actually interesting to find out that she did not like overly sticky or sugary treats, preferring cookies with nuts or any variety of salt sticks.

On the other hand, it turned out that the one person on this ship craving sugar the most was the one and only person Lance would have never suspected it to be, the very person who, precisely for that reason, has been agonizing forever over whether or not he should stick the mystery candy into his mouth.

This is gonna be so good.

“I mean, since Lotor’s dubbed it non-lethal you could give it a try. Finders, keepers and all that jazz.”

He hopes he is convincing in his act, he hopes neither Pidge nor Keith grow suspicious, he hopes none of them can hear the sheer amount of glee coating his words.

Keith gives the candy one last look, shrugs at Pidge who remains draped over his head and shoulders and pops it into his mouth.

He’s practically whistling, ready to full-out laugh once Keith’s face scrunches up and he spits the thing back out but can only gape as the black haired teen’s eyes widen in surprise before a satisfied moan reaches Lance’s ears.

Keith’s face is one of pure delight.

“What the cheese!”

His outburst has Lotor break out into laughter, doubling over as he braces himself on his knees, soon wheezing. It dawns on Lance what just happened and he is quick to chuck a wrapper from some sort of space bar he had eaten previously at the man.

“You traitor! You played me!”

“Like a fiddle!”

Man, he wished he had more ammunition but there are no pillows he could grab to use as missiles.

“What’s going on here?”

Keith’s tone is alarmingly low, and very very wary. Even Pidge must have sensed the danger because she has retreated a few steps, trying to make sense of the situation as well.

And just when Lance did not think Lotor could sink any lower, the damn bastard actually spills: “Those sweets are pretty nasty when it comes to humans but quite the delicacy for Galra.”

Lance can practically hear that cliché anime sound of someone connecting the dots and he wastes no time in getting up and as close to the door as possible before his teammate, the very same teammate that can almost outrun one of the drones by now, finally makes the connection.

He does not need to turn around to know that Keith is outraged, his angry cry indication enough.

“Lance!”

The door does not open fast enough for his liking.

“I will get you back for this you!” He shouts over his shoulder at Lotor, catching sight of Keith hot on his heels.

He is glad neither Shiro nor Samuel comment on his hiding place when they find him squished into a tiny space between the ceiling and a cabinet in one of the Castle storage rooms.

He is also glad that they are willing to get him out of his rather uncomfortable and stuck position without too much teasing.

-

They are ready to take on the last fight against the empire and Haggar, the intel from the Blade and all of which Lotor knows about the woman helping immensely in coming up with a battle plan.

The only problem remaining is…

“Please, let me fight!”

Allura stands confident and regal even when faced with such raw emotion.

“It has been agreed that while you may act as support on the bridge, you will not be participating in this fight directly. That is final.”

Lotor is upset, his face a grimace of hurt and anger, his sharp canines exposed in a snarl.

Lance understands where he is coming from, how hard he has worked to prove himself to them time and time again; remembering how he had confessed his wish to be part of the group that would bring down the Empire.

But he, more than anyone, understands his leaders’ reluctance in letting Lotor roam free in this last decisive battle.

It’s what drives him to put his hand on his friend’s shoulder, unflinching when that outraged glare fixes him. He merely shakes his head no.

Betrayal burns bright in those yellow depths, the very first time Lance has ever actually seen it on his friend’s face. It makes him flinch back as if burned, giving Lotor the opportunity he needs to swiftly stride through the door, head held low and shoulders hunched.

All Lance can do is sigh.

-

He catches Lotor in the middle of the night, messing around with a pod.

Leaning against the wall of the entrance, Lance just watches as his friend fiddles with different parts inside the cockpit, bringing his fist down on the console with a yell when something slips from his grasp and falls to the ground clinking and rolling away.

Lotor does not seem to have noticed him, letting his emotions freely show.

His lips are tugged down in a frown, the tendons in his neck tensed. Even from this distance, Lance can see him shaking.

And then he hears the sobs, muffled and gulped back.

He can’t tell when exactly he closes the distance, reaching out and resting his hand on Lotor’s exposed neck. Lotor stills like a startled animal, not even breathing and Lance starts to slowly work the muscles that are hard as rock.

“I had a feeling.” The shuddering breath coming from Lotor rattles his hand and arm but he does not draw his hand away. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He attempts to sound as neutral and understanding as possible, tries to channel Shiro or even Sam.

Lotor starts laughing, quietly at first then louder, until it borders on hysterical. It’s disturbing. He throws his head back and only then does Lance take a step back.

The prince covers his eyes with a hand so that all that Lance can see that torn smile.

His hair is in disarray and unkempt. Lotor in general looks run down and unhealthy, his skin having gained a pallor Lance cannot just blame on the lack of sunlight they all suffer from.

It’s strange to see Lotor in his place but Lance thinks he has a pretty good idea what is going on in that head.

“You’re not doing yourself any favors.”

Lotor snorts, his hand falling away to turn to Lance. He looks almost lifeless and Lance hates to think that this is what team Voltron has reduced him to.

“If I stay, all that will happen is me getting thrown into a cell to rot without ever having had the chance to make amends.”

Lance heaves a sigh, letting his side rest against the pod’s hull, arms crossed. He cocks his head, looking at Lotor critically.

“You used to help the Empire.” He lets that sink in for a moment before continuing. “If you go now, no one will believe me if I tell them you’re not up to something.”

The silence stretches.

“I want to help.” The words are hoarse and broken. “I want to help, but what good can I do from inside a prison cell? And don’t you dare tell me that that isn’t what is going to happen.”

Lance can’t argue that logic and thus drops whatever retort he’s had ready.

“I will be nothing but a trophy to be paraded around, to prove that the empire is gone once and for all. I am aware that it is what I deserve to some extent – I have blood on my hands – but… I want to make up for it. And being dragged around the universe with a collar and chain around my neck is not how envision that.”

Lance is out of his element. This is the kind of decision that a single individual should not be making but he is well aware of the reality of the situation and of its outcome.

And yeah, Lotor probably should have to serve his sentence but that part of him that still believes in his friend’s honesty and goodness can’t help but sympathize. Especially considering that his own hands are stained red and yet he will never have to face the consequences of his actions, simply because he is on the right side of this war. Simply because his skin isn’t purple and he isn’t the son of Zarkon.

“I know.” He finally admits and his own heart is weighed down by the realization that there is nothing he can do: nothing that he won’t regret anyway. “But if you go now, I cannot say what the others might do.”

He offers his hand, trying to smile encouragingly although he knows it’s a very sad try.

“C’mon. I know for a fact that the pods are now rigged so nobody can pull another ‘Lance’. They’d find you before you’d even have made it past the particle barrier. And also,” he taps at his own collar bone to remind Lotor of the device hanging around his neck, “you might not want to be electrocuted.”

He’d obviously forgotten about the tracker, slumping as his fingers brushed against the metal.

It’s painful to be a witness to the defeat clouding Lotor’s expression but in the end, he takes the offered hand, clambering out of the pod and lets Lance steer him back to his room where he stays the rest of the night, less to make sure that Lotor won’t still make a run for it rather than simply wanting to keep him company.

Lance cannot tell what the next day might bring. All he can do is hope he is ready for whatever might come.

-

He wants to pretend that out there somewhere he can spot that white pod amongst the million blazing stars as he looks out the observation deck.

Of course that notion’s ridiculous but it’s better than engaging in the pointless discussion that’s started.

No, he does not know where Lotor is headed.

No, he wasn’t there to see him depart.

No, he doesn’t know how he got rid of his tracker- of both trackers actually.

No, he doesn’t think that he has betrayed them.

There is no reason for him to. The Galra Empire is no more. There is nothing for Lotor to gain from claiming back his rightful title. There is no army to back him up and Haggar is dead, disintegrated in a shower of sparks thanks to Allura’s own magic.

His friends remain unconvinced but stop arguing when it becomes clear Lance will not partake in whatever they have planned to retrieve the half-Galra. He makes no pretense in wanting to help them.

As they move on to their next point of discussion after a brief and confounded pause, Lance’s and Coran’s eyes meet for a split second.

He smiles at the older man, hoping that he understands how grateful he is and hoping that he was not wrong.

If that turns out to be the case, then Lance is ready to take the fall and accept full responsibility.

Until then, he will look forward to seeing his family again.

And maybe one day, out somewhere in that vast universe, he will get to meet Lotor again.

** End of Part II: The Impartial **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) The design is based on a picture I saw on tumblr. I have been unable to find it again, unfortunately. I would be so happy if anyone could maybe point me to it so I can give the artist proper credit!


	3. They part ways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: blood/ graphic depiction of violence/ mentions of torture/ emotional and psychological abuse/ PTSD/ depression/ angst/ angst with closure  
> I’d just ask you to take the warnings seriously. Although this work probably is very vanilla and tame compared to what’s floating around in the endless depths of the world wide web, the second part of this chapter might be hard on people dealing with depression/ trauma/ abuse.  
> Still, the sheer amount of bonding and fluff should help lighten the mood. (I am physically unable to write anything depressing without at least some source of comfort…)  
> But I hope you all will like the ending of this work!

They part ways before the team is due to arrive at the rendezvous-point and Lance makes no secret of how much he hates the idea of not being able to introduce his companion.

Lotor only laughs and presses something into his hand while Lance is busy trying to come up with a dozen reasons why he should stay to at least share a drink, why he should at least accept his offer of taking the pod.

He looks at the small device in curiosity: “Is that a communicator?”

Lotor’s face drawing into a completely undisguised, self-satisfied expression is rather impressive to watch.

“I did my best at programming an equivalent to your Earthen language into it, something that will translate it into my tongue with the smallest margin of error possible.”

Lance holds it like a newly hatched chicklet.

“I do hope you will still be willing to keep me updated on your progress as the Blue Paladin.”

He obviously is not prepared for the hug, his last words almost dying in his throat as Lance draws him close. He is probably crushing his lungs with the force of it but in that moment, he only thinks about wanting to put each and every emotion – said and unsaid – into this hug.

Although it takes a moment, he feels Lotor relaxing after a while.

“Thank you. For everything.”

Lance means it from the bottom of his heart.

-

Lotor is long gone by the time Lance stands beneath the Castle.

His eyes do not once leave the lift slowly descending towards the ground and he is so nervous and taught he thinks he might just throw up.

It’s been more than four months. Four months of actively running away while the team has had to abandon their duties to get to him.

He guesses he deserves to feel completely horrible.

When the doors open, he is drenched in sweat and is sure his stomach is now really trying to climb up his esophagus.

They are all here, with the exception of Slav and (despite whatever inane hopes he might have) Shiro.

Cries for his name reach him before he is thrown on the ground by two figures barreling into him.

The wind is knocked out of him as both Pidge and Hunk latch onto every limb they can get their hands on, one blubbering about being so glad he’s safe and the other spewing curses left and right, which are just another way of saying they’re glad to have him back.

Lance chimes into the laughs, sniffling when he’s overwhelmed by too many emotions but mainly relief.

Coran and Allura are next to join them, the royal advisor having no qualms at throwing himself onto their pile while the princess remains standing. Hidden behind her frown he can also see genuine happiness.

The moment Keith stands above him though, something inside Lance stills like an animal backed into a corner, petrified and helplessly scared.

The mullet is now long enough to fit into a ponytail and in spite of the hair-do, Keith still looks every bit as intimidating as ever.

They all grow quiet, the tension so thick it could be cut with a knife.

Lance deeply swallows and grins shakily.

“Hey there mullet.”

Keith sharply exhales through his nose, before his shoulders relax and he reaches out a hand for Lance to take.

-

Not everything is perfect once he is back on board but that was a risk Lance had known he was taking.

No matter the time, someone always seems to just happen to go down the same corridor, sit in the same room or go fetch something in the same storage area as him.

Lance could acknowledge that they had all reason to distrust his word on not leaving again but he does feel a tiny bit insulted. Still, he had been the one lying to them. He should be happy that he is not confronted with glares and angry remarks.

It takes a whole day to get him updated on everything he’s missed in the past few months.

Shiro is still missing, with the Black Lion lying motionless in her hangar, eye-panels dim.

Slav is there to greet him in the common area, slinging around him like a tight-rope and sending them both to the floor. Lance is just as touched as he is annoyed by the gesture but the simple fact that he gets the equivalent of a hug from the scientist keeps him from trying to fight too hard against him. He does, though, tell him to stop when he keeps on babbling about percentages of all possible universes and realities where his return hovered close to nil.  
Lance did not need to know of all the terrible and horrible ways he could have died in an asteroid field or be sucked into a black hole.

The Galra, though severely weakened, have not caved under the loss of their leading figure Zarkon, Haggar the witch having taken over in his stead.

“It may seem though that she is met with resistance within her own ranks.”, Allura said and Lance would eat his foot if the sharp glint in her eyes was not self-satisfaction.

Finding out the difficulties they had faced in battle without his support, drove a spear through his heart. He apologized for it, surprised when Allura gave him an apology of her own, saying that she had not taken into consideration just how much they had had to give up for this war.

They now understand they have a duty, even if it was an inadvertent one, and Lance is ready to answer his call this time.

The question from Pidge does take him aback: “Must have been pretty hard to travel all on your own?”

He stills. Lotor had not taken the pod Lance had offered him, saying that he would hitch a ride with someone else. Seeing as whatever evidence of Lotor’s company had been stashed into a small bag, it is practically impossible to tell Lance had not spent the majority of his time on his own.

Their gaze is on him, genuinely curious and Lance is tempted to tell them about this awesome person he had met, that had actually persuaded him to return to them. As the edge of the communication device presses into his thigh though, he decides against it. Lotor was his friend outside his friendship circle.

He is special and Lance kind of wants to keep that kind of specialness alive and to himself. At least for a little while longer.

“I never was really alone. You get to meet all sorts of people.”

It isn’t a lie but Hunk’s pinched lips hold a quiet promise. Lance knows he is not off the hook. But that is okay.

Hunk, though nosy and at times impatient, will wait until he’s ready.

-

If anyone had ever told him that he would one day willingly end up on the training deck with Keith, he would have laughed into their faces.

As it is, he now tries to hit a motionless target with the small dagger given to him by Lotor, Keith standing next to him and watching his progress. Keith is surprisingly patient; maybe due to the fact that he knows from experience how hard this exercise is.

“What got you to even carry one around?”, he asks, blade whizzing past and lodging itself into the outmost ring.

“Well,” Lance starts as he closes the distance and pulls out the knife. He still has not mentioned Lotor to anyone and although Hunk has not stopped giving him subtle looks, he has yet to admit to anything.

All the while he has been writing to his friend, relaying how things were playing out in the Castle. Lotor is quick to assure him that he made the right call, that the universe would be a much safer place with Voltron complete and with their sharpshooter back on the team.

His own travels he says are going well and Lance can feel his heart squeeze at the admittance flitting over the surface of the communication device that his company is sorely missed. Lance is quick to assure him that the feeling is mutual.

His eyes catch Keith’s as he returns to the line high lightened in electric-blue, his throwing point, and he notices the open curiosity and genuine interest.

Lately, Lance has gotten the feeling that his teammates are being more attentive towards each other. An echo of his discussion with Lotor whispers in his ear.

_Nothing’s going to be the same._

He’s glad his fears did not become a reality that, instead, things seemed to have changed for the better.

“I met this one guy and my pod broke down. He repaired it and I shot anything that looked like it would eat it is own parent if given the chance. Anyway, he said I was a pretty good shot but that the moment I get ambushed I’m practically helpless, so,” his hand holding the knife flops a little “he gave me this along with some lessons on how to use it.”

Keith blinks at him, fist resting against his chin thoughtfully.

“That’s… that’s actually pretty observant.” He sounds rather incredulous and Lance can feel pride swell in his chest on Lotor’s behalf.

“Does this person fight often?”

Lance almost stumbles forward as he tries to throw the knife again but quickly regains his balance. His weapon still glides out of his hand and over the floor.

“Actually, I have no idea.”

He makes it a point to ask Lotor the next time he has their communication device in hand. Although Lance loves it when Lotor is just goofing off with him, he is kind of frustrated when the answer he gets is more misleading than the damn electric maze.

-

He slowly dislodges himself from Coran, the ghost of a smile on his face as he bends to retrieve the cleaning device lying forgotten on the floor.

He pretends not to see the man wipe at the corner of his eyes but still reaches out to put his hand on the advisor’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, really.”

Lance had kind of anticipated that Coran would confront him about his disappearance sooner or later but it had never occurred to him that their friendship actually meant this much to the senior resident of the Castle.

Now that he thinks about it, it actually does make sense, seeing as the two Alteans have nothing left but this space craft and every living creature living in it.

Coran makes a valiant effort at looking nonchalant and as though minutes ago he had not been pouring his heart out to Lance. It had been different from their time on the bridge (which now feels like lifetimes ago) where they had barely known each other but had been united in their desire for places unreachable.

Now though, after what Hunk and Pidge had calculated to be almost a year, Lance and Coran have grown to understand each other, grown to enjoy each other’s company despite minor throwbacks and communication errors.

Honestly, there had not been a day on his run where Lance had not imagined the team going about their daily routines, wondering whether Coran had found someone else to help him keep the Castle in top shape.

As he now knows, he didn’t. He feels equal parts thankful and guilty.

Looking back down the corridor they just mopped sparkly clean, Lance can’t help asking whether or not a sock-skating competition is in order.

He can’t stop laughing as, later on, Coran announces Pidge undisputed champion over the Castle’s loudspeakers while he and Hunk remain in a tangled pile after an unlucky slide.

Who would have thought that the mice would have taken such a liking to the tiny gremlin in his absence?

-

Pidge, though not necessarily antagonistic, does not let Lance forget for one second that he has to work hard to get back into her good graces.

He is actually kind of surprised, since logically, Keith or Hunk being the angriest at him for his departure would have made sense.

So he does what he can to make it up to her, even though he often feels a little lost when her reactions are not as heartening as he had hoped them to be.

It reminds him of his older sister but Lance nips that thought in the bud before it can fester. The last time it did, the results were rather catastrophic.

He kind of wished they could repeat their stunt in that mall, fishing for money together and making jokes and dumb references to old videogames they both enjoyed and although all group activities like their sock-skating-competition are fine, he always catches that slight narrowing of her eyes behind round spectacles.

So, it’s with a fluttering stomach that he stands in front of her door, carrying a plate with something like marshmallows, Hunk’s own recipe, one Lance had tried his hardest to follow to a T. He’d traded it for a bit of information on his solo travels – a small price to pay really. The white treats are a little misshapen, looking more like badly fluffed out pillows but at least the taste is about as right as it can get without the original ingredients.

Hunk had sworn on these things being able to pacify Pidge no matter what mood she was in.

Yet, Lance still stands here undecided whether or not to just leave the sweets in front of the door and make a run for it.

His indecisiveness is his downfall, as the door opens to reveal a rather groggy looking programmer.

Pidge squints up at him and Lance can’t hide his wince as he catches the redness of her eyes.

“Were you up all night again?”

Though only half-awake, Pidge is instantly on the defensive her lower lip jutting out.

“Sleep is for the weak.” And, boy, does her voice sound like gravel. If Lance didn’t know any better he would say she’s caught the space flu.

His hand is on her forehead so quickly it surprises the both of them but Lance is even more taken aback by the fever he can feel burning his skin.

Every brother instinct is brought out of its dormant state instantly.

“Okay, you know what! Nope, no no no!”

And with that he pushes her back into her room, any and all of her protests ignored. Though Pidge may be small and nimble, she stands no chance against Lance’s long limbs, especially with her own body taking too long to respond to her commands.

Lance’s arm is around her middle before she can evade his leg and the Cuban feels smug triumph at having hauled her back onto her bed, glasses askew and looking like for once she could not process what has just happened.

Lance is quick to put down the plate just so he can make sure their genius hacker does not get up and run through the still open door.

It’s a good thing she does no longer bother to wear shoes in the Castle because Lance is pretty sure she would have kicked him if he had tried to take them off.

Her obvious state of illness does not stop her from glaring at him as he tucks a blanket under her chin and even takes off her glasses, resulting in an undignified yelp on her part.

As he folds the arms of the spectacles, Pidge rasps: “I don’t understand.”

It’s so unsure and shaky that it makes Lance’s chest heavy. Pidge’s face is scrunched up, tears brimming and clinging to her lashes as she looks up at him with caramel eyes full of hurt.

Lance squats down so he’s on her eye level. Feeling especially bold and brotherly, he ruffles her hair gently.

Lance is aware that Pidge is rather emotion-driven, although her dry sarcasm and on-point observation cover it up pretty well. Still, he guesses the fever is taking its toll on her if she is tearing up in front of him.

“Why did you leave?”

It’s quiet but the underlying accusation and incomprehension tear at Lance’s insides with renewed guilt.

“We already lost Shiro. Why did you think you could just leave?”

Sometimes they tend to forget. They forget that Pidge is barely old enough to get a license and is already cruising around the universe in search of a family their government has given up upon the moment the Kerberos mission failed. Sometimes they tend to forget that she left her mother behind. Sometimes, Lance forgets that she was just as homesick as him probably.

“I really wanted to see my family again.”

His admittance is first met with failing comprehension, until Lance becomes witness to the process of Pidge coming to grasp the meaning behind what he just said. A spark of understanding.

It does nothing in terms of making her feel better.

“But I thought we were family?”

And wow, Lance never thought he could feel this bad and disarmed through just one tiny whisper.

He draws her into his arms, holding her close and making sure she does not see his face, because right now his eyes are burning.

“I’m sorry I left, I really am. And I promise I’m making it up to you but first, let’s get you better.”

He lets go of her when she nods, tugging her in again properly. A fist catches the sleeve of his jacket and he turns back to see Pidge with a smile and trembling lips.

“I’m sorry for making you feel like you weren’t family.”

Lance’s lip is trembling just as hard as the breath he releases, a heavy weight suddenly lifted from his shoulders.

-

The mice have been following him on a regular basis now. Not that Lance is complaining: He loves the mice, has always been fond of smaller animals. But even his love for anything soft, warm and cuddly cannot gloss over the fact that Allura has been keeping tabs on him through her furry companions.

After almost four weeks, Lance feels _very_ insulted.

“Okay,” he announces loudly to Chulatt who is momentarily in charge of watching him as he goes through his beauty regimen, “is Allura listening right now?”

The mouse shortly stares off into space and Lance wonders what it is like to have such a connection, until he wants to hit himself. It’s most likely like his connection with Blue. Go figure.

After a few ticks the mouse turns their attention back to him, nodding vigorously, its eyes huge with excitement.

“Okay, then can you tell her that I’m not going to disappear on you all again? I mean” and he strikes a pose with his chest puffed out and a hand resting on it dramatically just for the heck of it “I know that she wants to steal the secrets to this beautiful and flawless skin” ( _as if_ , he admits to himself because Allura is one of the two most gorgeous people he knows) “but this is going a bit far. If she wants to know she can just come by and ask.”

Chulatt has their paws in front of their muzzle, high-pitched squeaks escaping them. For some reason, Lance never fails to amuse the majority of the rodents. It’s something he had never really appreciated until his return. While distracted, he pokes a finger at the soft belly, making the mouse fall over, wrestling with his digit for a moment before letting Lance just pet it into a goopy pile.

They both jump when his door opens, revealing Allura in a simpler, casual dress. Lance is so shocked he jumps up and hits his head against the low ceiling of his bunk, Chulatt rolling off into the bedding and Lance scrambling to look for them.

“Shoot, hey Chulatt, you okay buddy?”

A squeak from within the folds of a bundled up blanket has him exhaling in relief.

“Good to know, champ!”

He gets another muffled squeak in return.

Suddenly there is quiet laughter and Lance almost forgot they have company.

Sure, he has seen the princess amused before with guarded smiles betraying her. Right now though, she is laughing uninhibited. Her hand does not suffice to hide the smile revealing perfectly white teeth and her eyes actually crinkle.

Lance wonders if maybe it is partially due to her connection to Chulatt that has her in this state.

Still, Allura would not be Allura if she didn’t know how control herself and faster than Lance would like she is back to her usual, more down-to-business self.

“Fancy seeing you here, princess!”

Lance jokes, winking at her in good humor but it effectively wipes the last traces of a smile off her face. He is somewhat sad that she won’t play along. In his family, it was normal to interject jokes and throw harmless flirts at each other, competing for who could make the most people groan or laugh in one try.

In space, and especially in this Castle, people somehow seemed to have a very low tolerance for any kind of fun.

He lets his own grin fade away, opting to go and help his furry friend out of the blanket instead. He didn’t want things to get so awkward.

The sigh is loud and clear, stinging him. Finally his fingers find Chulatt and the mouse doesn’t lose any time in holding onto his digit to clamber up his arm to perch on his shoulder.

The tiny whiskers tickle his ear and Lance goes to pet Chulatt with a single finger, still refusing to turn around and see Allura’s surely exasperated expression.

The silence is rather uncomfortable and he wished he hadn’t said anything at all.

“Was there something you needed?”

He is surprised at how hesitant but earnest Allura sounds. When he looks back there is no glare or frown, instead the princess seems to wait for his answer.

He gives her a shy smile.

“Not really, I was just… playing around with Chulatt.”

The mouse makes a gesture as though to confirm Lance’s claim, saluting with its tiny paw. It’s super adorable.

“That is not was they told me.”

He glances at his new shoulder companion with a raised eyebrow, wondering just what exactly it was that they had communicated back at the princess. When all he receives is a cute twitch of their nose, he opts for asking Allura directly.

“What did they tell you exactly?”

It had taken Lance sometime to spot it. That nervous little tick, a dark thumb brushing over the tip of an index and middle finger in a circular motion, so small and inconspicuous Lance never would have caught onto it hadn’t he sat at the right angle that one time on the bridge.

It was only once he became aware of it that he also became proficient at spotting it every time Allura did it, every time she grew tense, frustrated, annoyed or worried.  
It was what had made him understand that maybe Allura was just as scared as most of them.

But he did not want for Allura to feel any of these things, not in his presence anyway.

He gives a sigh.

“Let’s go get something to drink? I heard Coran found some kind of special ceremony tea or whatever.”

The ticks it took for Lance to reach the door and for Allura’s indecisive look to falter, feel like the longest seconds in his entire life.

But when she gives a short breath, corners of her moth and brow set in a sort of determined expression he feels hopeful enough to believe he can still salvage the wreckage he’s turned their friendship into the moment he had started flirting with her when she fell out of the pod.

“It’s called bürtuthian blossom.”

-

Connecting with Blue comes easy. Too easy. So easily in fact Lance is afraid he has done some irrevocable damage to their bond and friendship.

It doesn’t make sense. He should feel exhilarated but he can’t truly bring himself to be.

Sure, Blue had been the only one he had told about his plans, was the one he had left with bitter-sweet goodbyes and instructions, had been the one to assure him things would be alright.

He feels like he should atone; pay for the crime he has committed towards his partner but Blue is kind, only ever kind and patient in a way that reminds Lance achingly of his mother.

They are flying through space, dark, and vast, and endless, taking twists and turns and getting reacquainted with each other again.

The silence is thick, saturated with Lance’s nervousness and with so many apologies he doesn’t even know how to vocalize.

Blue’s gentle brush against his mind tells him it won’t be appreciated, that there is nothing to forgive, that she agreed to it from the very start, that she considered his happiness and wellbeing one of the most important things in her life.

It makes Lance laugh inexplicably, loud and hysterically.

“That’s not what a giant robot built to save the universe should say.”

The push following that statement is more insistent, much more indignant than many he has received before.

He is part of the pride. He is part of the whole. Losing him, his core, to this war is unacceptable.

Lance closes his eyes briefly, allowing himself to sink into his chair, and further into the essence that is his lion, his Blue. The one being that will be behind him and his every decision no matter what.

It hurts being loved so unconditionally.

As he opens his eyes, he catches sight of a comet’s tail, bright and beautiful.

His hands are instantly back on the control sticks.

“What do say about chasing a little stardust?”

His contentment and happiness is echoed in Blue’s joyous roars as they follow the frozen rock’s path.

-

When Lance reaches Keith his lungs are burning and his arms trembling so hard he is afraid he might miss his target.

He freezes, a terror so sudden and strong washing over him that he barely comprehends what he is seeing.

His teammate, his friend, one of the strongest fighters he knows is lying on the ground, a broken and bloody heap giving off quiet noises that Lance only later realizes were breathless sobs.

Never has he seen Keith look this pathetic and vulnerable – not when they lost Shiro and neither in any battle he can remember.

And above him, with one of his feet placed on the black-haired teen’s throat- cutting off his air- stands a figure in a suit that is a grotesque parody of their Paladin ones tinted black and with violet Galra insignia. The dark visor makes it impossible to identify the individual underneath but Lance hardly cares as something inside him ignites.

It rushes through him, searing and painful, makes his ears ring and a feral scream escape his throat that tears at his vocal cords as he takes aim at Keith’s tormentor.

They’ve turned their head the moment he entered, head cocked to the side slightly as though Lance just some curious inoffensive creature instead of a sniper with a gun.

When the shots are about to connect he simply summons a violet Galra shield, remaining silent. He watches Lance, not moving an inch but a groan from Keith indicates that he is applying more pressure, Keith’s hand scrabbling, trying to get the boot of off him as he starts turning a horrible shade of blue, his eyes bulging until Lance thinks they are about to pop out of his skull.

“STOP!”

It is a desperate scream, a horrible plea disguised as a scathing command.

His gun shapes itself into a small caliber one, his other hand going for his dagger, ready to engage directly, anything to get that monster away from Keith.

He runs but is intercepted by the soldier. His weapons are knocked clean out of his grip before he can even register what has happened.

Their visors collide as the person invades his space and throws him back on the ground with a powerful jab of his elbow just beneath his sternum. Lance is left struggling for breath that won’t come, making panic rise inside him.

The figure is approaching slowly with languid steps, Lance no threat as he can barely jerk his limbs into motion.

They tower over him, Lance writhing, and kneel down with their knee barely brushing the bruised flesh, ready to pin their prey should they resist.

The lack of air and mounting fear make Lance’s vision blacken at the edges. Distantly he is aware of the shouts and screams coming through the comm, their team desperate to know what is happening to them but Lance barely hears it over his own frantic heartbeat.

One of the hands, Galran purple and ungloved, enters his line of vision coming ever closer to his face and Lance wonders if this is how he is going to die, strangled by a stranger that tortured Keith.

But instead of an iron grip crushing his wind pipe he jerks at the caress of fingertips along his exposed jawline – gentle and almost reverent.

He shudders violently both from residue terror and overwhelming revulsion as his body involuntarily reacts to such tenderness.

The stranger watches his fingers ghosting along Lance’s throat and stilling over his Adams apple, a sting telling Lance that the pointy nails broke the skin.

They remain like this for several ticks, Lance afraid that he is just a second away from his throat being cut open and to be left to bleed out.

A metallic jangle has the person moving away, looking back to where Keith has managed to roll onto his stomach, one arm outstretched. His knife lies a few feet away, Keith staring at it in defiant annoyance and then at his enemy with undisguised hatred.

In this moment, Lance does not know which outcome is more horrible – the stranger going for Keith directly or first finishing him off and then a helpless Keith.

He does neither.

He gets up, Lance giving a strangled sound as he approaches Keith, aims a kick at his temple that knocks the Red Paladin out before disappearing through a door, head looking back over his shoulder one last time before being out of their sights.

Lance, winded and uncoordinated, still manages to get to his feet and run to Keith’s side, assessing the damage. He throws up at the sight of bone breaking through flesh and skin.

Although he is reluctant to scoop Keith up in his arms in fear of inflicting more pain on his teammate, Lance tries to persuade himself that as long as he gets his friend to the healing pod it won’t matter.

The memory of Keith’s pained whimpers and cries as he carries him off, has Lance awake for many nights.

-

Keith is shaken after the encounter.

Lance can admit that he is as well and is there every step of the way from the healing pod to the times when he can see Keith’s eyes growing distant and wide, sudden flashbacks overwhelming him.

Although Allura is anxious to find out about the events on the Galra ship, she and Coran are reluctant to demand answers. Lance could only guess that whatever information he had divulged while Keith’s unconscious form hovered in the pod, and from the wounds that had to be treated before putting Keith in there, that they are afraid of what might come out of Red Paladin’s mouth.

Pidge and Hunk both do all in their power to help Keith gather himself again but even they have difficulties comprehending just how horrible the whole experience was. But Keith’s smiles, small and hard to spot as they may be, are a good indicator that their presence grounds him.

While everyone is doing what they can to help their temporary leader, Lance turns to Lotor for advice, telling him about the incident, leaving out all of the details that have his stomach roiling with nausea.

His friend is supportive, wishing for Keith’s swift recovery and for Lance to stay strong.

_“Everything is going to be alright.”_

Lance wishes these words into existence with all of his might

-

The Mamorites are back. Both because Slav is needed at their headquarters and also because they want to discuss some major event with them concerning the power chain in the Garla army’s command.

The team members are in one of the common rooms, seeing as they just returned from a tough mission where, luckily, no one got too beat up to need a pod.

Lance is also relieved that this time, their mystery figure did not appear.

He glances at Keith, a lot less twitchy than he always is whenever he catches a glint of that multicolored armor. When Coran drops a pouch into his lap, Lance gives him a mumbled thanks before sipping its contents in just one long gulp.

His attention is brought to Allura once she enters with Kolivan. Lance still finds it funny to watch these two converse, with Allura almost having to bend her neck to get a good look at the Galra’s face. It makes him wonder if one day she’ll just shapeshift to avoid getting a kink in her neck.

The princess seats herself close to Hunk, a swipe of her hand activating some sort of mechanism that makes a control panel and screens appear.

“You said that you had some concerning news.”

Kolivan gives a nod, putting what Lance can only guess to be the equivalent of a flash drive onto the console.

Galra gibberish and images pop up on the monitors, the biggest one showing the face of a man who looks like a failed cross-breed between a Galra and a human. His face is sharp, his ridiculously thin and pointy nose not able to divert the onlooker’s attention from the mouth that looks like the corners did not successfully meet, exposing red and pinkish sinews and muscle. Lips are none-existent, replaced by something that looks like hardened, sharp plating not unlike Zarkon’s. Golden eyes framed by red streaks similar to Altean cheek marks stand out against white hair. **(1)**

Keith bristles as he recognizes the armor of his assailant, hackles almost raised.

“This is the rightful heir to Zarkon’s throne, Prince Lotor.”

Everyone is looking at the image, Allura’s eyes furrowing as she takes in the face and turns back to their ally. Underneath the frown lies fear and something accusatory.

Coran and the Paladins voice their incredulity, short exclamations and shouts about how this can’t be or wordless whines.

“Impossible.” She says fists clenched at her sides. ”How is it that we only find out about this person now? What are you hiding!”

If the rebel is put off by the obvious rebuke, he does not show it, only inclining his head a little, likely trying to appease the Princess.

“It was misinformation on our part. It has been a very long time since Prince Lotor was last seen. Much like Zarkon, his lifespan goes far beyond that of our own members and with the lack of activity we assumed that the prince had perished.”

He bows his head.

“Please believe me when I say that we never wished to abuse your trust.”

Allura gives a harsh breath, her shoulders moving along, eyes closing for a tick before looking back at Kolivan.

“Fine. Then please share whatever information you can.”

With a nod the Galra proceeds to sift through the data, more text and images appearing, although none of them understand why suddenly so many different aliens are being shown to them.

“Prince Lotor has been alive for many hundreds of years. He was the only child of emperor Zarkon, although it is unclear what organism birthed him or whether he was the result of genetic experiments.”

The various images of different species zoom in as Kolivan turns one of the dials displayed in a holographic panel.

“Though Prince Lotor does not match Zarkon’s physical strength, recent reports have drawn our attention to the fact that he seems to display an affinity towards magic much like the Druids.”

Everyone listens with rapt attention and the Galra proceeds with his briefing.

“A worrying aspect of his physique is his ability to shape-shift much like you Alteans, although he seemingly enhances it via his magical properties.”

At a wave of his hand the first row of images is replaced by a second and then a third, none of the people displayed in it resembling in any way the nightmarish creature from the very first.

“Inside sources have confirmed his return to the main fleet –“

“Lance!”

Hunk’s alarmed shout has Allura and Kolivan whipping around their heads, the princess almost falling off her seat as Hunk rushes off to Lance’s side, kneeling.

Lance’s complexion has suddenly turned ashen, the blue of his irises minuscule against the pronounced white of his eyes.

He is staring at one of the images as he sits rigidly and Allura notices with the same amount of worry as the Yellow Paladin that their friend has stopped breathing.

Pidge, either out of desperation or a fit of genius, gives the Cuban a hard thwack on his back. Instantly he gasps for breath, drawing in air with a strangled wheeze when suddenly his body gives one convulsive jerk. Allura already knows what is going to follow but before Lance can sully the space between his feet Coran appears with a bucket he had recently used for cleaning before Kolivan arrived.

Lance’s retching is revolting to listen to. It‘s as if his insides want to be completely purged. Once he is done, hands clamped around the sides of the bucket and forehead resting against the rim, they panic as sobs echo out from the container.

“Lance…” Keith is careful to approach him, hesitating a second before putting his hand on Lance’s shoulder. The gesture only manages to upset their friend more it seems, his sob turning into anguished cries.

When he looks up his face is a mess of tear-tracks with snot and sick coating his chin. Yet it is not the disgusting fluids coating his face that alarm them but the expression of utter and complete devastation laced with guilt and sadness.

His struggle is unbearable to watch and the garble that comes out of his mouth almost did not pass for words.

But Hunk heard and obviously understood because not a moment later he asks: “What are you apologizing for?”

But Lance cannot push any more words past his lips and clenched teeth.

His friend’s eyes, frozen in a picture, seem to mock him as they unseeingly watch the drama unfold.

-

Lance would understand if they chose to hate him.

He had divulged information to Lotor that put them all at high risk, put Earth and their families at high risk. He remembers Keith being tortured. The sudden guilt and betrayal burns like the acid souring his mouth.

The briefing is put on hold while he struggles through his fit, while he battles each and every ugly emotion now rearing its head. He feels bad for everyone, not only because his whole vomiting business must be unpleasant to watch but also because they are unable to understand what is happening, Lance’s throat working against his each and every attempt to form words.

When he feels the tendons in his neck loosen enough to press out a few syllables, he can only murmur a string of apologies. It does little about his friends’ mounting panic.

“Lance, I don’t understand! What’s going on!?”

Hunk’s voice is shrill and Lance can feel his lip wobble with guilt.

His voice is only a croak: “I met him.”

It’s like time itself stopped. Everyone stills. Nothing stirs, not even the air around them. They all look shocked but intent to listen.

A smaller sob interrupts Lance as he points at the image still on screen and all eyes turn towards the unassuming figure.

“That’s _him,_ Hunk.” Lance confesses, a fresh wave of tears stinging his eyes as his best friend’s expression morphs into complete horror.

“No way…”

Lance knows how much weight the pained whisper holds. Although he never told Hunk his friend’s name, Lance had been bullied into talking about his travels through space in a pod as they prepared meals or cleaned. Lance had figured that lying would be counterproductive, especially with how unsteady their bonds had become with his stunt. He had told Hunk a lot but not everything.

He had recounted some of their sillier and more amusing times, and only some of the quiet moments of secrets shared and of heartaches being spilled.

 _“I’m glad you had someone like that.”_ Hunk had then admitted with an arm around his shoulders and a big smile on his face.

And Lance had been agreeing wholeheartedly.

Now, he felt like everything he had managed to build up in these past few months had been destined to come crashing down.

Keith is angry, but by now Lance’s come to understand that his anger is often another form of expressing his worry. So Lance does not flinch too hard when his friend and rival loudly demands answers alongside Allura.

Pidge and Coran can only watch disquieted as the tension in the room rises, their Galran visitor almost forgotten.

“When I ran away- “ he has to stop when he almost can’t bring himself to admit to the crime he unwittingly committed, “I- I was so alone.”

He cannot bear looking at them, opting to hide his face in the bucket and deciding against it once the acrid smell hits him. He pushes the mess away, sniffling, wiping at his face with the back of his hand; never looking up once.

“I felt lost. All I could think about was going home. But I needed supplies and” his voice breaks as he remembers their first encounter. Lance only seeing a stranger that was gentle and compassionate, “– and then I ran into him. He offered me food. We talked. A lot.”

He lets out a chuckle that has nothing to do with amusement. It’s the only thing that his body allows him to do to express the sheer absurdity of it all – of his too trusting nature, of his naivety in believing that things could not be too good to be true.

“He was so kind to me.”

Every word hurts, now that each and every moment is tainted and tarnished forever; now that each and every gesture, each and every encouragement has to be questioned.

“And that gives you the right to put us all in danger!”

Lance is so numb with pain he is almost apathetic to the idea of Keith bodily harming him. Maybe he even deserves it.

Before Keith can do anything though, he is both stopped by Hunk and Coran, arms locked under the Red Paladins armpits.

“It’s not his fault Keith.”

The adamancy in Hunk’s words and posture is impressive. As if he truly believed those words. Lance can only stare at him in wonder, while the other two teens are waging a battle through silent glares.

“He” and Keith puts special emphasis on the pronoun, lips drawn back in a snarl “willingly gave the enemy information!”

Hunk is not the least bit deterred. “Look, I get it. It was a bad call, not gonna lie about that.” He says looking at Lance firmly but without derision. Now Lance can’t look away even if he wanted to. Then Hunk turns back to their friends. “But I bet even I would have fallen for this Lotor guy’s lies.”

Pidge gives a squawk that is supposed to be Hunk’s name while everyone stares at the mechanic in disbelieving shock.

“Hunk, surely you can’t mean that…”, Allura starts almost imploringly but his buddy just shakes his head.

“Lance… Lance actually told me about him.”

The confession throws them off, probably because no one had thought about the possibility that there was more to Lance’s merry travels through various galaxies than him just being alone on a road-trip.

Hunk’s brown eyes find Lance’s again and there is so much ache and understanding in them that it almost takes Lance’s breath away.

“If anyone, absolutely anyone, had treated me the same way that guy did Lance then I also would have trusted them.”

Lance’s face scrunches up at the sincerity in his best friend’s voice. At least he has Hunk’s forgiveness and support. It’s more than he probably deserves, if he deserves any at all.

Probably because he was sure Lance was not in any condition to defend himself, he goes on: “He was friendly, he was being nice, he was doing what we should have done - he listened.”

It gives them pause, although everyone’s expressions range from dubious at best to hostile at worst.

Through the haze and numbness, he watches Allura take a long, long breath, her eyes shut before they fall onto him, blazing and hard.

“Speak.”

And he does as if on auto-pilot, answering each and every question with little to no emotion behind it. He does not think he can muster it up.

Hunk has to haul Keith away when Lance reveals the existence of the communication device. Kolivan is the one to tell them that it is an old standard Galra issued public gadget.

Lance is out of the room the moment he is done recounting his and Lotor’s travels, dropping the communication device, Lotor’s present, into Coran’s outstretched palm.

No one makes a move to follow him.

-

Lance is constantly checking on the star map these days, almost tempted to bite his fingernails off with how restless he is, especially ever since the communication device fritzed when Coran tried to hack it.

But Earth remains blue in an increasing sea of red dots. He is not sure what to make of it? Is it because Earth does not have a beacon strong enough for them to catch on? How would they even know if their home planet was being attacked?

He wants to entertain the idea that maybe, just maybe, Lotor would leave Earth untouched for the sake of their former friendship. It is a conflicting feeling.

He does not hear someone entering the room and violently flinches at the blanket being draped over his shoulders.

He is surprised to see Keith, even more taken aback by the fact that he is sitting down beside him and staring at the hologram as well.

His posture is relaxed and his face devoid of any of the anger Lance had feared he would have to deal with at every turn from now on.

It does little to settle his nerves.

“We talked with Hunk.”

Lance flinches despite himself and regrets it when he catches Keith’s expression growing guarded and just a little disappointed.

“And ?”

“I kind of get it now.”

Lance can’t help but blink at the gentle tone but Keith is far from done.

“When I got into the Garrison… I didn’t know anyone. My foster family was out of reach and I… I wouldn’t have talked with them about my problems anyway.”

By now they all were aware of Keith’s missing family, of the history of loss that he carried around with him but hearing him talk about it like this, when it was obvious it took all of Keith’s willpower to not just drop the subject … it gave Lance a whole new understanding of the person he called his rival.

And it hurt because Lance could never imagine not being close to the people he called family.

“I needed a tutor and Shiro volunteered because he needed the extra credits and cuz’ he was suicidal enough to agree to drill me three times a week before semester would start.”

Keith’s smile was a painful, shaky thing but his eyes held a warmth and wistfulness that was utterly breathtaking.

“It didn’t start off as badly as I had imagined.” He chuckles dryly. Lance could see his eyes getting a bit too bright to be entirely blamed on the blue shine of the Earth representation floating serenely above their heads.

“I gave it my everything not to get too attached while Shiro was too much of a goody-two-shoe to leave the kid without friends alone.”

They lapse into silence, Lance just offering a nod as he goes back to staring at the floating ball – the image of a blue planet far, far away.

The feeling that he ruined everything for his team washes over him quickly like a wave and he physically shakes as if trying to get those residue droplets of sadness and self-loathing off.

Keith just stares at him but leaves it at that.

“I’m sorry.”

He glances at Keith and is not met with surprise but a quiet sort of anticipation.

“I never thought I could fuck up this bad.”

And with that he buries his head further into his crossed arms. At least he’s said it, even if the delivery leaves to be desired. There is probably more he should apologize for but he doesn’t know where to start.

The hand on his shoulder is completely unexpected and makes him jerk. Keith’s hand remains firmly in place as he looks Lance directly into his eyes.

“We kind of brought this on ourselves.” he begins and before Lance can protest, Keith plows on “Was it stupid of you to trust a stranger? Probably but it’s what you do when you are on your own. It’s what I did when Shiro came along.”

He pauses and there is something heavy in his expression. Lance reels at the realization that it is guilt. Keith’s next words are small, a hushed whisper in the darkness of the otherwise empty room.

“But honestly? We never should have even pushed you to leave in the first place. I shouldn’t have said the things I did. We’re both here because we’re idiots.”

Lance chuckles at that.

“The great Keith admitting he’s wrong? I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” he adds at the annoyed expression he receives for that. The smile on his face feels genuine.

“Thank you, Keith.”

Sitting here on the observation deck, Lance can slowly feel his frantic mind calm down.

-

When they find Shiro it’s not just a joyous reunion for him and the team.

Pidge is on the floor sobbing like there is no tomorrow as she embraces her brother who is about as much of a mess as her.

Lance is watching from the sidelines, a smile on his face that feels both good but strained.

He won’t ruin this moment for anyone. He won’t paint a scowl on anyone’s face just by being in their vicinity.

He startles when a gentle hand lands on his shoulder, making him glance back to see Coran.

There is a smile curling his moustache but his eyes look dark and understanding.

Lance instinctively knows why he is here and what he is trying to do, his joints locking up.

“Come on young man, time to greet your missing team member.”

Lance stumbles as his limbs remain stiff in awkward terror, as he gets shoved into Shiro who greets him with a smile and embrace Lance _knows_ he does not deserve even remotely.

It’s obvious that Shiro’s taken aback by his lack of response but he covers it up to save Lance’s face, although there is little to save in the first place.

“It’s good to see you all well.”

Lance marginally tightens his hold, sudden fear making him realize that this might be the last time he will ever get a hug from the man once he learns the truth. And suddenly, everything ugly and desperate crawls up inside him, his eyes stinging with tears he refuses to let fall, he refuses stubbornly to be seen by the others.

He will not spoil this for anyone – even if it’s the last thing he does.

His voice comes out strong, although muffled by the shoulder pad of Shiro’s armor.

“It’s good to have you back.”

-

Lance had not counted on Shiro reacting so calmly and obviously neither had the rest of the team.

Allura sounds incredulous: “Of course it isn’t fine!”

Lance can only stare dumbly as he watches the exchange, Shiro almost unmoved by the princess’ palpable indignation.

“I know but I’m actually more surprised that you guys split up in the first place.”

He looks at all of them individually, eyes resting on Lance just as long as on anyone else with just the same amount of quiet disappointment. It’s kind of ironic how much he is reminded of his dad scolding him and his siblings after having pulled some exceedingly stupid stunt.

The statement has Allura backtracking, the first hints of shame marring her frown.

She opens her mouth and for the first time in a long while Lance sees her at a loss for words. Allura gives a deep sigh, one filed with all of the unspoken and yet completely apparent frustration of the past few months.

“It wasn’t easy.”

It has to be the understatement of the century but Shiro takes it with a nonchalant shrug.

“When has it ever been?”

Despite the heavy atmosphere, there is something more in the small curl of Shiro’s lips as he gives them a well-meaning, dry smile. Lance cannot remember if his leader has ever been this open with showing his own weariness. It somewhat clashes with the air of confidence he still emits.

As Lance catches a glimpse of Matt staring at his friend, he can’t help but wonder what has happened in all those months they had been separated.

Lance is taken aback when Shiro addresses him directly: “At least we have someone who can tell us what we’re up against now.”

He feels gratitude for the metaphorical hand that’s being extended to him.

-

He is surprised to find out that seemingly, he is not the first one to have been duped by Lotor.

“So, he tried to take you guys down from the inside out?”

Matt swallows the jerky-substitute he had been chewing on for a while, nodding.

“Disguised himself as some sort of alien species that is known for their caring nature and infiltrated our ranks. We kind of found out who he was by accident.”

Lance takes a moment to stare at nothing in particular when Matt’s fist nudges him in the shoulder, an understanding smile on his lips.

-

After a while, he gets used to the idea that now, every mission he is being accompanied by someone from the team or given strict instructions.

It is annoying but he knows he brought this upon himself.

It also gives him the comfort of knowing where he needs to stop and take a step back, even if at times he still gets carried away when talking to strangers.

But it’s fine and from the looks on his team mates’ faces he can tell there is no ill intention behind it.

-

Panic grips him.

They lost contact with Keith and Shiro. Despite the general chaos and the flashing lights, the screeching grind of metal on metal, the bolts of energy and the smoke, Lance always is on the look-out for Lotor’s armor.

He’s seen it, briefly maybe but he knows with certainty he’s here and it terrifies him, brings back the memory of when he almost choked Keith to death.

Keith does not answer when he opens his channel. His blood runs cold and he’s off the moment there are no enemies left to drop.

“Shiro!” he bellows, coughing as he inhales dust and ash. The battlefield is a horrible flaming carnage that mere hours ago was a dense forest concealing a Galra base.

His leader does not give a verbal answer but Lance can discern grunts and shouts sounding far away, as though Shiro had thrown away his helmet.

As he jumps over a fallen branch, he hears Allura’s comm crackling to life.

_“Paladins where are you?”_

She sounds steady and in control but over a year in her company is enough for Lance to hear the unspoken worry hidden in this one simple sentence.

“ _Hunk is still guarding the door_.” A series of loud shots swallow whatever else Pidge was about to say “- we’ll need just a few more doboshes and then we’ll blow up this thing!”

Allura gives her affirmative.

“I’m on my way to Keith and Shiro.”

_“You know where they are?”_

She sounds so hopeful and relieved it almost kills Lance to tell her the truth.

“Negative. But I saw them run back into the forest.”

He yelps as he evades a stray shot, or an intentional one, he can’t really tell anymore at this point. All that matters is getting to his friends before Lotor does.

“He’s here Allura. I saw his armor.”

It’s deadly silent on the comm while the sounds of the battle hurt Lance’s eardrums but he is focusing all of his attention on further instructions.

The princess’ voice is the most unsteady he has heard it since their battle against Zarkon but it holds all of the strength Lance had needed in that moment: _“Find them.”_

There is no way she can see his nod but he gives a sharp one before he pumps his legs, runs like his life depends on it and it is hysterically absurd because if anyone is in danger it very surely isn’t him.

-

He does not shout as he shoots at Lotor, the man’s sword ripped out of his grasp and landing somewhere in the dirt and underbrush.

Lance cannot see his pained expression through the tinted glass of his helmet but knows it is there by the way the prince cradles his hand and he wonders if the fingers are sprained or maybe even broken.

Shiro uses the momentary distraction to come in from below with his glowing arm angled such a way that once it connects Lotor will have had his legs for the longest time. And from behind, Keith has his sword pointed directly at Lotor’s chest.

Lance cannot imagine how the Galra could possibly escape this predicament. His breath stalls as he watches as Shiro and Keith are about to finish the fight.

Then there is a change, a minute alteration of the air pressure and Lance shouts a warning before he even knows what is happening.

There is a crackle of black energy and lightning bolts erupt from around Lotor’s hunched form, slamming into his teammates and flinging them away. Lance can hear their pained cries even without their comm links, Shiro skidding over dirt and debris while Keith slams into a tree with a sickening crack and Lance rushes to his side, fearing what he’ll find.

Keith is panting on all fours, gulping in air erratically. One look at the splintered tree bark and he can tell that it was mostly Keith’s armor connecting with it.

Still he asks: “You okay?”

Keith plants the tip of his sword into the ground using it as leverage besides Lance’s arm under his elbow.

The Red Paladin grunts an affirmative but as soon as he tries to stand he goes down with a strangled cry. Something’s definitely broken but Lance takes solace, infinitesimal as it may be, in the knowledge that at least it does not seem to be Keith’s spine.

“Dammit!”

Lance flinches at the raw frustration, the anger but cannot dwell on it for much longer because of the sudden deep roar of Red in the distance shaking the ground.

Lance gives a whoop despite himself and the situation but the idea of the cavalry coming to their rescue is almost intoxicating.

A flash of light has them looking back at the clearing, the battle ground, a parody of an arena with two fighters battling, Lotor and Shiro locked into a deadly dance Keith and Lance can only watch from the sidelines.

Sparks fly as Shiro’s hand repeatedly hits Lotor’s translucent shield, his uninjured hand holding a small dagger Lance recognizes all too easily.

He tries to stab his leader, the blade almost always too close to Shiro’s chest or throat. Lance tries to aim his rifle but it’s too much of a risk, the possibility of hitting Shiro instead of Lotor while they are moving back and forth makes him hesitate.

He has a sudden idea, turning to Keith.

“Give me your blade.”

It takes Keith only a moment to switch from surprised to determined, handing him the Galra dagger without any remorse.

The moment the heavy weight settles in his hand, Lance is up and runs, giving himself not even a chance to question the idea that has formed in his head. It doesn’t do any good though, because obviously Lotor knows him too well.

Keith’s blade lands hard against a shield, shaking Lance’s whole arm but he refuses to let go of the weapon and keeps trying; anger the driving force behind each swing.

But no matter what he dishes out, the only one Lotor ever really tries to hurt, to potentially kill is Shiro. It is both an insult and a great opportunity, allowing Lance to play as dirty as he needs to win this fight.

But he is not a prodigy like Keith and not a seasoned warrior like Shiro and so it is no surprise when in the end, after Lotor probably understands there is no “friendship-bonus” he can take advantage of, he gets kicked in the chest.

It catapults him into Shiro, both of them ending up on the ground winded but still jumping to their feet the moment their opponent is upon them again. They swing and parry, and dish out as much as they get in return, although Lance is painfully aware that he is out of his element but he’ll be damned before he allows Lotor to hurt his friends one more time.

The pain comes out of nowhere just as the bolt of condensed black magic hitting him dead center in the chest.

He is dimly surprised at the fact that he is still alive as he falls, the world around him slowing down to almost a stop.

He will never be able to wipe the grimace of horror contorting Shiro’s face, or the way Keith shrieks his name from memory.

He hits the ground with a thud, limp and in pain but miraculously alive, Shiro instantly coming to cover him, to protect him from further harm; and from where Lance is lying he can watch each and every flicker of those grey eyes, looking for the offender that is actually not Lotor.

A few yards away, a purple robe stirs the dust and leaves.

Haggar’s face is twisted with something quiet and deadly, her outstretched hand glowing ominously, just like her yellow eyes.

From his position and in-between the space of Shiro’s ankles, Lance sees Lotor retreating to the woman’s side, the two of them still ready to continue this battle and Lance has the sinking feeling that this might just be it: it’s two against one at this point and Shiro’s breathing is heavy, their fearless leader pushed to his very limits.

Haggar’s gravelly voice carries even all the way from the other side of the clearing: “You Paladins will perish.”

The orb in her hand grows slightly in size, its darkness becoming more intense. It would be mesmerizing, if it weren’t their impending doom.

“For Zarkon.”

The crunch is accompanied by a wet squelch as Lotor’s blade drives deep into the back of Haggar’s head.

Even later, not even Keith or Shiro could tell when Lotor had moved.

But it was a shocking sight, the handle sticking out of the back of Haggar’s cranium, the light-blue blood welling up and soaking the hood as well as Lotor’s wrist as Haggar stands immobile, as though nothing had happened, energy crackling and dying out in a wisp.

The first thing to go slack is her arm, her whole body following suit. She falls to the ground, blade sliding out of her head easily.

She had died before she could even realize what had happened.

They are all too stunned to react, eyes glued to the sight of one of their mightiest enemies now dead on the floor at the hands of one of her own allies.

Before any of them can truly process that fact, Lotor lunges at the corpse; bringing down his blade again and again, hacking and slashing like a frenzied animal, tearing into flesh - blood and gore spraying everywhere.

Lance can feel primal terror surging through him at the gruesome sight at this brutal display of savagery.

As much as he wished he could look away, he can’t. He just can’t and neither can his leader and the Red Paladin, their expression mirroring his own revulsion and horror.

Slowly, Lotor takes longer in-between swings, the power behind each waning until he stops still kneeling over the bloody shreds of the witch’s corpse, staggering drunkenly to a stand.

Lance is thankful he cannot see Lotor’s features. He does not wish to see the monster behind that mask.

The ground shakes, Lance rolling onto his back from the force of it and is suddenly met with the underside of Red’s jaw. The Lion lets out a deafening roar, her legs spread wide in what must be a threatening stance. Her promise to tear apart the one that dared hurting her pilot.

Rolling his head Lance manages to catch one last glimpse of the prince disappearing amongst the trees and underbrush, leaving behind Haggar’s mutilated body.

Lance has never been this afraid of a person.

He suddenly wished it was still Zarkon they would have to face off at the end of this.

-

Under Lotor’s command, the Galra grow more violent and ruthless.

Wherever they go, they leave a swath of destruction.

With every day, the necessity of ending the “Blood Prince” as people have begun calling Lotor, becomes more and more apparent.

With the blade and many of their new allies as well as the rebels, they prepare for their last stand.

-

The infiltration mission is a success. Until they realize that it’s a trap meant to separate the team, leading Lance directly to Lotor.

They are in a spacious room that heavily resembles the Castle’s training deck.

Lotor sitting tranquilly, right there in the middle of the room and meditating. Lance recognizes the pose. He has seen it enough times during their journey together to forever commit it to memory.

When he stands in front of Lotor, rifle pointed at his head, the latter only looks up calmly.

Lance can feel anger swelling inside him, showing itself in the form of shouts and him demanding answers.

He is not the least bit prepared when he gets solemn replies.

“I wished to see you succeed where I had failed.”

Lance cannot process what he is being told. Lotor gazes at him with compassion and something deep: an understanding born from the friendship that they had once cultivated. It has left its mark on them both, as much as Lance wished to deny it.

“You are so much more than people give you credit for. I saw it the moment you sat in front of me and talked about your team, saw it when we were on Tharat and kept us safe while I was repairing the pod.”

It’s as if no time had passed. As if they were still in that cockpit, just the two of them, Lotor giving him all the appreciation and companionship Lance felt he missed amongst the members of his own team. How did this man have so much power over him? How could he still make Lance feel at home when he had surely only manipulated him for his own means, when he had taken over his father’s mantle, when he had used the team to finish off his greatest enemy, Haggar, when he had mangled Keith and repeatedly attacked both him and as of late Shiro?

Lance can feel non-existent bile stinging the inside of his mouth. It scares him, how much these words still resonate with him, even as his mind screams _traitor, traitor, TRAITOR!_

The prince’s features settle into saddened acceptance, bowing his head, white hair cascading over his shoulders. Lance’s hands shake while still pointing his weapon at the Galra’s head.

“I wanted to see you assume the position you were always destined to occupy.”

Lance is convinced that he’s suffering from shock, feeling strikingly and terrifyingly disconnected from his body as he stares at the still bowed head.

“We were so much alike: underestimated, seen unfit to lead, no person in their right mind ever seriously considering entrusting us with anything of importance.”

The golden eyes flash and Lance feels himself enraptured again. He does not even notice his arms falling to his sides, Bayard retracting but remaining loosely in his grasp.

“I saw your potential – a caring leader. The kind of leader fit to command the greatest force of the universe.”

Lance cannot breathe, although it isn’t because of equipment malfunction. Lotor stands before him, tall (nothing like the pipsqueak that had barely reached the tip of his nose) and his hand goes to trace the contours of his helmet in a grotesque parody of that caress when he had pinned the winded sharpshooter under him.

Lance’s body would not move, only able to stare up at his once friend in shock.

Lotor’s whole expression is one of adoration. It makes everything all the more terrifying and surreal.

“I wanted it to be you. To become the true leader of Voltron and to then return to my side once the time was right. Together, we can create something great, something lasting and meaningful.”

Golden eyes glint with something sharp and unhinged.

The realization as to what Lotor is saying slowly trickles into Lance’s frozen mind, and when it does he can feel a pained croak tearing at his throat.

“You… you almost killed Keith because you wanted me to lead Voltron? So you could control it?”

He was the catalyst for Lotor’s brutality. His insecurities had unwittingly driven him to unleash this monster on his friends.

This monster that had been his friend and told him everything he’d wanted to hear.

This monster that had built him up and almost destroyed him in the process.

A hand is snaking around his neck even as the gentle expression never wavers.

And suddenly Lance has his Bayard shoved in the small space between their chest with a loud whirr, the trigger pulled back before Lance can consciously register what is happening.

With the muzzle directly pressed into the unprotected sternum there is no visible flash as the bullet pierces through Lotor’s chest. Only a tiny wisp of smoke from behind the prince’s back to give an indication as to what has happened.

The long fingernails scratch lightly over the surface of his suit, Lotor’s and Lance’s eyes still remaining locked.

Despite the shock and pain, there still remains a spark of life even if it dulls with every single second ticking by.

Lance watches as the smile stretches, Lotor falling forward, Lance not prepared for the sudden weight pushing him down as he falls back with a cry.

Lance lands on his back, the heavy body knocking the wind out of him. His mind is numb with sudden panic, white and filled with shrill sounds he cannot place as the arms strengthen their hold around him one last time before going completely slack.

Lance can feel his heart hammering in his chest so hard he is sure it will crack his ribs, can feel his lungs being unable to expand as he tries to take in breath futilely.

Lotor was dead. Shot through his heart by the only person that could have gotten close enough to achieve that feat.

Even when his team finds and extracts him from under the prone body, Lance cannot stop shaking, cannot stop frantically rubbing and scratching at the soaked through parts of his bloodied suit.

Cannot talk back to his team as they beg for him to give them answers.

The trip back to the Castle is wiped from his memory entirely.

He only remembers holding someone else’s hand in a death grip as he’s administered a soporific agent.

-

Victory should feel good.

It doesn’t to Lance. He feels hollow.

He is smart enough to know he’s traumatized but he does not have the words to verbalize it to his team.

They all are worried, even though they are very obviously relieved that the final threat of the Galra Empire is taken down. They can finally go home. They can go look for their families.

Lance lives in abject terror of the idea of going home the way he is now. He does not recognize himself. His family would feel the same way about him. He cannot let them endure this broken version of himself.

He wants to pull himself together but it’s hard. The team has stopped praising him for defeating Lotor after seeing him unravel the first time they did. They understand that it is territory to be tread upon carefully.

But they are caring and warm and so painfully patient with him that it has Lance crying more often than not. Coran has started a search, rifling through huge amounts of data in hopes of finding a way to help Lance in the most professional manner possible.

Hunk is roping him into cooking, maybe because there is something simple and domestic about working alongside somebody else in the kitchen. It does help him relax a lot more even if he can only give Hunk apologetic glances when no sound will make it past his lips.

He is just glad nobody is acting as frustrated towards him as Lance feels with himself.

They concentrate on helping Pidge finding the last of her family, Matt and her working hard towards that final goal.

Lance has to say, Matt is awesome and just as smart as his sister although he has a more mellow air about him. His time as both a prisoner and space rebel have left their obvious marks on him but he, just like Shiro, is doing his best at keeping it to himself. Nonetheless, Lance has already caught both their leader and the brunet huddled up on a sofa in the common rooms, talking under their breaths and arms around each other. Lance knows that those times are best for him to go annoy Pidge a little.

Keith seems a little helpless with their situation, copying what Lance had done for him when he had been tortured by Lotor and Lance appreciates it, even if it gets awkward at times. Still, whenever they have duty together and Keith tries to fill a silence Lance cannot break, he finds himself amazed at how observant the teenager can be and threading details to fit into a whole – like how the mice and Allura actually influence each other in their mannerisms in very subtle ways Lance had not even picked up on. It makes him understand Keith in a way he never might have before.  
The fact that guilt churns inside Lance’s gut every time they interact is not helping though.

The team doesn’t know about what Lotor had confessed to Lance in his final moments.

It’s enough to make the Cuban wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night regularly. He joins Shiro during these nights, sometimes Coran or any of the others if they happen to be kept up by their own personal demons.  
Allura in particular tries to indulge him on these nights, showing him how to do more with the star map than just locate Earth, unearthing pictures of so many worlds and places that range from dazzling views from mountaintops to videos showing thunderstorms and tornadoes. It calms him, especially when he sees the different civilizations, and knows that now it is over. That these people can now leave in peace for the most part.

And slowly, he starts to get better one step at a time: whispering his thanks to Hunk one day without realizing it until he’s swept into a bone-crushing hug.

He’ll get to apologize to Keith and Shiro properly, thankful for the friendship they now share, that makes it possible for them to forgive him.

He’ll be there to see the Holts reunite, preparing a celebration for the small family with the others. He does not allow himself to think too hard about the fact that because of the mining work and the consequent metal poisoning, Mr. Holt will soon be bound to a wheelchair. But at least he is alive.

He’ll get to introduce everyone to his family, who will all cry and laugh and tell him how much he’s been missed.

He’ll find his place, his purpose, will find that strength that Blue always keeps talking about.

It will take time but he will get there one day.

 

** End of Part II: The Rotten **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) The design is based on a picture I saw on tumblr. I have been unable to find it again, unfortunately. I would be so happy if anyone could maybe point me to it so I can give the artist proper credit!


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